


i ie 








snaniiiiaboncaiin 


A 


3 
oO 
= 
ep] 5 
NS 
CSS 
Pet 
< 


es Sa 




















maw 


Bel ew Oeste sate ade 
Ss “SQ XQ Iie 
SOS SS 


»~ 

Es 

Et | 
rl th 
* 
a 
5 


Cais be ge Te ND 
ma 


; SURE 4M Oe A AAS AT PPAR 
pan tye 





















































Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2007 with funding from 
Microsoft Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/afterdivorceroma0Odelerich 

















Romances of Italian Life 











In the Twilight of the Medici 


A Night with Alessandro 


By TREADWELL W. CLEVELAND, Jr. With three scenes in 
color by ELtior Keen. $1.25 
A tale of adventure in Florence from dusk to dawn. 
‘* A skilfully contrived bit of comedy. The author has not 
forgotten to write with care.”—New York Tribune. 
‘Told with a zest that holds the reader to the page until 
the end.”—Chicago Tribune. 





In Garibaldi’s Time 


The Gadfly 


By E. L. Voynicu. $1.25 


**Tt is nothing more or less than one of the most power- 
ful novels of the decade.”—New York Tribune. 

“One of the most interesting phases of the history of 
nineteenth-century Europe. The story of the Italian revo~- 
lutionary movement ... . is full of such incidents as the 
novelist most desires. . . . This novel is one of the strong- 
est of the year, vivid in conception and dramatic in execu- 
tion, filled with intense human feeling, and worked up to 
a tremendously impressive climax.” —Dzad. 





Modern Sicily 
On Etna 


By Norma Lorimer. $1.50 


A vivid tale of the experiences of an English girl in which 
bandits and the Mafia play important parts. f 

‘* The situations are novel and daring, the style is epigram- 
matic and picturesque. . . . Ceres never forgets to be 
charming.” —W, Y. Sun. ‘ 

“It will engross the attention to the end.”—Providence 
Journal, : 

‘* A story of strong human passion, showing deeply contrast- 
ing types and contains excellent descriptions of Sicilian life, 
told with unction and dramatic fire.” —Boston Herald. 





Modern Sardinia 


After the Divorce. $1.50 


By Grazia DeLeppa. Translated by M. H. LANSDALE 


A dramatic Sardinian tale by an author who is popular 
in Italy and France, and whose fame has reached America. 
It opens with a man being unjustly imprisoned for murder. 
Thereupon his wife gets a divorce and remarries. 


—[—[—[—[—[—$—<— — —<—<— — ——————— SS 
Henry Holt and Company 
Publishers (1,’05) New York 








AFTER THE DIVORCE 


4 ROMANCE 


BY 


GRAZIA DELEDDA 


Translated from the Italian 


BY 


MARIA HORNOR LANSDALE 


And they shall scourge him, and put him to death; ... 





NEW YORK 
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
1905 


COPYRIGHT, 1905 


BY 
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 


Published March, 1gos 


THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS 
RAHWAY, N. J. 





ss 


“a ob 
tae 
Slant 


be 5 h 4) 
ne 





AFTER THE DIVORCE | 


CHAPTER I 


INETEEN Hundred and Seven. In the 
“ strangers’ room’”’ of the Porru house a 
woman sat crying. Crouched on the floor near the 
bed, her knees drawn up, her arms resting on her 
knees, and her forehead on her arms, she wept and 
sobbed continuously, shaking her head from time 
to time as though to indicate that there was no more 
hope, absolutely none at all; while her plump shoul- 
ders and straight young back rose and fell in the 
tightly fitting yellow bodice, like a wave of the sea. 
The room was nearly in darkness; there were no 
windows, but through the open door which gave 
upon a bricked gallery, a stretch of dull grey sky 
could be seen, growing momentarily darker; and 
far, far away, against this dusky background, 
gleamed the yellow ray of a little, solitary star. 
From the courtyard below came the shrill chirping 
of a cricket, and the occasional stamp of horses’ 
hoofs on the stone pavement. 
A short, heavy woman, clad in the Nuorese dress, 
with a large, fat, old-woman face, appeared in the 
doorway; she carried a four-branched iron candle- 


MS51004 


4 | After the Divorce 


stick, in one socket of which burned a wick soaked 
“Giovanna ‘ Era,” said she in a gruff voice, 
“what are you about all in the dark? Are you 
there? What are you doing? I believe you are 
crying! You must be crazy! Upon my word, 
that’s just what you are—crazy!”’ 

The young woman began to sob convulsively. 

“Oh, oh, oh!” said the other, drawing near, and 
in the tone of one who is deeply shocked and 
amazed. “I said you were crying. What are you 
crying for? There’s your mother waiting for you 
downstairs, and you up here, crying like a crazy 
creature! ” 

The young woman wept more violently than ever, 
whereupon the other hung the candlestick on a large 
nail, gazed vaguely about her, and then began hov- 
ering over her disconsolate guest, searching for 
words wherewith to comfort her; she could only 
repeat, however: “ But, Giovanna, you are crazy, 
just crazy!” 

The “ strangers’ room ’’—the name given to that 
apartment which every Nuorese family, according 
to immemorial custom, reserves for the use of 
friends from the country—was large, white, and 
bare; it had a great wooden bedstead, a table cov- 
ered with a cotton cloth and adorned with little 
glass cups and saucers, and a quantity of small pic- 
tures hung close to the unpainted wooden ceiling. 
Bunches of dried grapes and yellow pears hung 


 __ - - 


After the Divorce 5 


from the rafters, filling the room with a faint fra- 
grance; and sacks of wool stood about on the floor. 

The stout woman, who was the mistress of the 
house, laid hold of one of these sacks, dragged it 
to another part of the room, and then back again 
to where she had found it. 

“Now then,” said she, panting from her exer- 
tion, “do stop. What good does it do? And 
why should you give up, anyhow? What the devil, 
my dearie! Suppose the public prosecutor has 
asked for the galleys, that doesn’t mean that the 
jury are all mad dogs like himself!” 

But the other only kept on crying and shaking 
her head, moaning: “No, no, no!” between her 
sobs. 

“Yes, yes, I tell you,” urged the woman. “ Get 
up now, and come to your mother,” and, taking 
hold of her, she forced back her head. 

The action revealed a charming countenance; 
rosy, framed in a thick mass of tumbled black hair ; 
the big dark eyes swollen and glistening with tears, 
and surmounted by heavy black eyebrows that met 
in the middle. 

“No, no,” wailed Giovanna, shaking herself free. 
“Let me cry over my fate, Aunt Porredda.’’* 

“Fate or no fate, you just get up!” 

“No, I won’t get up! I won't get up! They'll 
sentence him to thirty years at the very least! Do 
you hear me? Thirty years! That’s what they'll 
give him!” 

* Porredda, female diminutive for Porru. 


6 After the Divorce 


“That remains to be seen. And after all, what 
is thirty years? Why, you carry on like a wild- 
cat!” 

The other gave a shrill cry, and tore her hair 
in an access of wild despair. 

“Thirty years! What is thirty years!” she 
shrieked. ‘A man’s whole lifetime, Aunt Por- 
redda! You don’t know what you are talking about, 
Aunt Porredda! Go away, go away and leave me 
alone! for the love of Christ, oh, leave me to my- 
self!” 

“Tm not going away,” said Aunt Porredda. 
“The idea! In my own house! Get up, you child 
of the devil! Stop this before you make yourself 
ill. To-morrow will be time enough to pull your 
hair out by the roots; your husband isn’t in the 
galleys yet!” 

Giovanna dropped her head, and began to cry 
again in a subdued, hopeless way, heartbreak- 
ing to listen to. ‘‘ Costantino, Costantino,” she 
moaned in the tone of one bewailing the dead, “ I 
shall never see you again, never again! Those mad 
dogs have seized you and bound you fast, and they 
will never let you go; and our house will be empty, 
and the bed cold, and the family scattered. Oh, 
my beloved! my lamb! you are dead for this world. 
May those who have done it die the same death! ” 

Aunt Porredda, distracted by Giovanna’s grief, 
and unable to think of anything more to say, went 
out on the gallery, and began calling: “ Bachissia 


_ After the Divorce 7 


Era! come up here; your daughter is losing her 
mind!” 

A step was heard on the outer stair. Aunt Por- 
redda turned back into the room, and behind her 
appeared a tall, tragic-looking figure all in black. 
The gaunt, yellow face, shaped like that of some 
bird of prey, was framed in the folds of a black 
handkerchief; two brilliant green spots indicated 
the eyes, deep set, overhung by fierce, heavy brows, 
and surrounded by livid circles. Her mere presence 

seemed to exercise a subduing effect upon the 
daughter. 

“Get up!” she said in a harsh voice. 

Giovanna arose. She was tall and lithe, though 
cast in a heavy mould and having enormous hips. 
Beneath the short, circular petticoat, adorned below 
the waist with a band of purple, and with a broad, 
green hem, appeared two little feet shod in elastic 
gaiters, and the suggestion of a pair of shapely 
legs. 

“What are you worrying these good people 
for?” demanded the mother. ‘‘ Have done now; 
come down to supper, and don’t frighten the chil- 
dren, or throw a wet blanket over the happiness 
of these good people.” 

The “ happiness of these good people ’” was in al- 
lusion to the arrival of the son of the house, a law 
student, home for the holidays. 

Giovanna, recognising that her mother meant to 
be obeyed, quieted down without more ado. Pull- 


8 After the Divorce 


ing the woollen kerchief from her head, and thereby 
disclosing a cap of antique brocade, from whence 
escaped waves of coal-black hair, she turned to- 
wards a basin of water standing on a chair, and 
began to bathe her face. 

The two women looked at one another, and Aunt 
Porredda, taking her lips between her right thumb 
and forefinger in sign of silence, noiselessly left the 
room. 

The other, accepting this hint, said nothing more, 
and when Giovanna had finished bathing, and had 
set her hair in order, silently led the way down the 
outer stair. 

Night had fallen; warm, still, profound. The 
solitary yellow star had been followed by a multi- 
tude of glittering asterisks, and the Milky Way lay 
like a scarf of gauze embroidered with silver span- 
gles. The air was heavy with the penetrating odour 
of new-mown hay. 

In the courtyard, the crickets, hidden away in the 
trelliswork, kept up their shrill chirping; the rumi- 
native horse still stamped with his iron-shod hoofs 
upon the stones, and from afar floated the melan- 
choly note of a song. 

The kitchen opened on the courtyard, as did a 
ground-floor bedroom sometimes used as a dining- 
room. Both doors were standing open. 

In the kitchen, beside the lighted stove, stood 
_ Aunt Porredda engaged in preparing the macaroni 
for supper. A child, clad in a loose black frock, 


After the Divorce 9 


fair, untidy, and barefooted, was quarrelling with 
a stout little urchin, fat and florid like his grand- 
mother. 

The girl was swearing roundly, naming every 
devil in turn; while the boy tried to pinch her bare 
legs. 

“Stop it,” said Aunt Porredda. “There now, 
will you leave off, you naughty children?” 

“Mamma Porru, she’s cursing me; she said: 
‘Go to the devil who gave you birth.’ ” 

* Minnia! what a way to talk!” 

“Well, he stole my purse, the one with the picture 
of the Pope, that Uncle Paolo brought me——” 

“ It’s not so, I didn’t!” shouted the boy. “ You'd 
better not be talking about stealing, Minnia,”’ he 
added with a meaning look. 

The girl became suddenly quiet, as though a spell 
had been cast over her, but presently her tormentor, 
Seizing a long stick, tried to hook the curved handle 
around her legs. Minnia began to cry, and the 
grandmother faced about, ladle in hand. 

“TI declare, T’ll beat you with this ladle, you 
wretched children! Just you wait a moment!” she 
cried, running at them. The children made a dash 
for the courtyard, and collided violently with Gio- 
vanna and her mother. 

“What’s all this? What’s all this?” 

“Oh, those children, they'll drive me wild! I 
believe the devil is in them,” said Aunt Porredda 
from the doorway. 


10 After the Divorce 


At this moment a slim little figure in black 
emerged from the main gateway leading into the 
street, calling excitedly: “ They are coming, Grand- 
mother ; here they are now!” 

“Well, let them come; you would do better, Gra- 
zia, to pay some attention to your brother and sister ; 
they have been fighting like two cocks.” 

Grazia made no reply, but taking the iron candle- 
stick from Aunt Bachissia she blew out the light, and 
hid it behind a bench in the kitchen, saying in a low 
voice: “ You ought to be ashamed, Grandmother, 
to have such a looking candlestick, now that Uncle 
Paolo is here.” 

“Uncle Paolo! Well, I declare! Do you sup- 
pose he was brought up on gold?”’ 

J “He has been to Rome.” 

“To Rome! The idea! They only don’t have 
lights like that there, because they have to buy their 
oil by the pennyworth. Here, we can use as much 
oil as we want.” 

“You must be green if you believe that!” said 
the girl; then, suddenly catching the sound of her | 
grandfather’s and uncle’s voices, she flew to meet 
them, trembling with excitement. 

“‘Good-evening, Giovanna; Aunt Bachissia, how 
goes it with you?” said the hearty voice of the 
student. “I? Very well, the Lord be praised! I 
was sorry to hear of your misfortune. Never mind, 
courage! Who knows? The sentence is to-mor- 
row, is it not?” 


After the Divorce II 


He led the way into the room where the supper- 
table was laid, followed by the two women and the 
children, whom their uncle’s presence filled with 
mixed terror and delight. 

He was short and limped slightly, one foot being 
smaller than the other, and the leg somewhat 
shorter; this circumstance had earned him the nick- 
name of Dr. Pededdu,* a jest which he took in very 
good part, declaring that it was far better to have 
one foot smaller than the other, rather than a head 
smaller than those of other people. 

His fresh, round, smiling face, with its little 
blond moustache, was surmounted by a big, tat- 
tered black hat. He proclaimed himself a Socialist. 
Sitting down on the side of the bed, with both legs 
swinging, he threw an arm around each staring, 
open-mouthed child, and drew it to him, giving his 
attention meanwhile to Aunt Bachissia’s recital of 
their misfortunes. From time to time, however, his 
gaze wandered to Grazia, the angles of whose girl- 
ish, undeveloped figure were accentuated by an ill- 
fitting black frock much too small for her. Her own 
hard, light-coloured orbs never left her uncle’s face. 

* Listen,” said Aunt Bachissia, in her harsh voice, 
“T will tell you the whole story. Costantino Ledda 
had an uncle by blood, his own father’s brother. 
His name was Basile Ledda, but they called him 
‘the Vulture —may God preserve him in glory if 
he’s not fast in the devil’s clutches already—be- 
cause he was so grasping. 

* Piedino,—little foot. 


12 After the Divorce 


“He was a wretch, a regular yellow vulture. 
God may have forgiven him, but there, they say he 
starved his wife to death! He was Costantino’s 
guardian; the boy had some money of his own, his 
uncle spent it all, and then began to ill-use him. He 
beat him, and sometimes he would tie him down 
between two stones in the open field, so that the bees 
would come and sting him on the eyes. Well, one 
day Costantino ran away; he was sixteen years old. 
For three years nothing was heard of him; he says 
he was working in the mines; I don’t know, but 
anyhow, that’s what he says.” 

“Yes, yes, he was working in the mines,” inter- 
rupted Giovanna. 

“T don’t know,” said the mother, pursing up her 
lips with an air of doubt, “ well, anyway, the fact 
remains that one day, during the time that he was 
off, some one fired at Basile the Vulture out in the 
field. It is true he did have enemies. When Cos- 
tantino came back he admitted that he had run away 
for fear he might be tempted to kill his uncle, he 
hated him so. | 

“ Afterwards, though, he tried to make his peace 
with him, and succeeded too. But now listen to 
this, Paolo Porru——’”’ 

“Dr. Porru! Dr. Porreddu!” shouted the small 
nephew, correcting the guest. The latter, turning 
on the boy angrily, started to box his ears, where- 
upon Giovanna laughed. On beholding their heart- 
broken guest—she who up to that moment had been 


After the Divorce 13 


surrounded by a halo of romance and tragedy— 
actually laughing, the pale, lank Grazia broke into 
a nervous laugh as well, and then Minnia laughed, 
and then the boy, and then the student. 

Aunt Bachissia glared about her, and, lifting one 
lean, yellow hand, was about to bring it down on 
some one—she had not quite decided whether her 
daughter or the boy—when Aunt Porredda ap- 
peared in the doorway, bearing a steaming dish of 
macaroni. 

She was followed by Uncle Efes Maria Porru, a 
big, imposing-looking man, whose broad chest was 
uncomfortably contracted in a narrow blue velvet 
jacket. He was a peasant, but affected a literary 
turn; his large, colourless face resembled a mask of 
ancient marble; he wore a short, curling beard, and 
had thick lips always parted, and big, clear eyes. 

“Come, sit down at once,” said Aunt Porredda, 
planting the dish in the centre of the table. 
“What! laughing, are you? The little doctor is 
making you all laugh? ”’ 7 

“I was just about to give your grandson a box 
on the ear,” said Aunt Bachissia. 

“And why were you going to do that, my soul? 
Come now, sit down, all of you; Giovanna, here; Dr. 
Porreddu, over there.” 

The student threw himself back full-length on the 
bed, stretched out his arms, lifted his legs high in 
air, dropped them again, sat up, and jumped to 
his feet with a yawn. 


14 After the Divorce 


The children and Giovanna began to laugh again. 

“A little gymnastic exercise does one good. 
Great Lord! how I shall sleep to-night! My bones 
feel as though they had lost all their joints. How 
tall you have grown, Grazia; you look like a bean- 
pole.” “ 

The girl reddened and dropped her eyes; while 
Aunt Bachissia thrust out her lips, annoyed at the 
student’s lack of interest, as well as at the general 
indifference to Costantino’s fate. To be sure, 
Giovanna herself had apparently forgotten, and it 
was only when Aunt Porredda placed before her a 
bountiful helping of macaroni covered with fra- 
grant red gravy, that she suddenly recollected her- 
self; her face clouded over, and she refused to 
eat. 

“There now! what did I tell you?”’ cried Aunt 
Porredda. “ She is crazy, absolutely crazy! Why 
can’t you eat? What has eating your supper to- 
night to do with the sentence to-morrow? ”’ 

“Come, come,” said Aunt Bachissia crossly. 
“Don’t be foolish, don’t go to work and spoil these 
good people’s pleasure.” 

“A brave heart,” said Uncle Efes Maria pom- 
pously—fastening his napkin under his chin and see- 
ing an opportunity for a learned observation—“ a 
brave heart defies fate, as Dante Alighieri says. 
Come now, Giovanna, prove yourself a true flower 
of the mountains; more enduring than the rocks 
themselves. Time softens all things.” 





After the Divorce 15 


Giovanna began to eat, but with a lump in her 
throat that made swallowing a difficult matter. 

Paolo, meanwhile, had not spoken a word, but sat 
bowed over his plate, which, by the time Giovanna 
had managed to get down her first mouthful, was 
entirely clean. | 

“Why, you are a perfect hurricane, my son!” 
said Aunt Porredda. ‘“‘ What a ravenous appetite 
you have, to be sure! Do you want some more— 
yes?—and more still—yes ri 

“Well done!” cried Uncle Efes Maria. “It 
looks as though you had found very little to eat in 
the Eternal City!” 

“Eh, that is precisely what I was saying just 
now,” said Aunt Porredda. “ Beautiful streets, if 
you will; but—when it comes to buying anything— 
the pennies have to be counted down! I’ve been 
told all about it! On my word, they say that there 
are no provisions stored in the houses as there are 
here, and you all know for yourselves that with no 
provisions in the house it is not easy to satisfy one’s 
appetite! ” 

Aunt Bachissia nodded affirmatively; she knew 
only too well what happens when there is nothing 
in a house to eat. 

“ Is that true or not, Dr. Porreddu? ” 

“ True, perfectly true,” said he, laughing, and eat- 
ing, and waving his large, white hands with their 
long nails, in the air. 

“It is that that makes him such a leech, a regular 





16 After the Divorce 


vampire,’ said Uncle Efes Maria, turning to his 
guests. “I'll not have a drop of blood left in my 
veins. Body of the devil! how the money must go 
in Rome! ” 

“ Ah, if you only knew!” sighed Paolo. ‘“ Every- 
thing, every single thing is so frightfully dear. 
Twenty centimes for a single peach! There, I feel 
better now.” 

“Twenty centimes!”’ exclaimed all the company 
in chorus. 

“ Well, Aunt Bachissia, and then? After Costan- 
tino came back?” asked Paolo. 

“Well, Paolo Porru—you see I go on addressing 
you familiarly, even though you will be a doctor 
soon; when you were a little chap I used to go so 
far as to give you a cuff now and then 

“‘T have no recollection of it, but go on with your 
story,” said the young man, while Grazia’s nostrils 
fairly dilated with anger. 

“Well, as I said, Costantino disappeared for three 
years, and——” 

“He was working in the mines, all right; then he 
came back and was reconciled to his uncle. What 
then?” 

“He met my Giovanna here, and they fell in love 
with each other; but the uncle made objections be- 
cause my girl was poor. Then they began to hate 
one another worse than ever. Costantino was work- 





ing for the Vulture, and he would never let him 


have acentime. So, then, one day Costantino came 


OO — OE a 





After the Divorce 17 


to me and said: ‘I’m a poor man; I haven’t got any 
money to buy trinkets for the bride, or to provide 
a feast and all the rest for a Christian wedding; and 
you are poor, too. Now then, suppose we do this 
way: we will have the civil ceremony, and all live 
and work together; then, when we have saved 
enough, we will be married by God. A great many 
do it that way, why shouldn’t we?’ So we did; we 
had the civil ceremony very quietly, and afterwards 
we all lived together and were happy enough. But 
the Vulture was furicus; he used to come and yell 
things at us even in our own street, and he tried to 
interfere with Costantino in every way he could. 
But we just kept on working. So at last, when the 
vintage was over last autumn, we began preparing 
the sweets and things for the wedding, and then Ba- 
sile Ledda was found dead one day, murdered in his 
own house! The evening before, Costantino had 
been seen going in there; what he went for was to 
tell his uncle about the wedding, and to try to make 
his peace with him. Ah, poor boy! he would not 
run off and hide somewhere as I begged and im- 
plored him to do, so of course they arrested him.” 

“He would not go because he was innocent, 
mamma, my——” 

“There you go, you simpleton, beginning to cry 
again! If you don’t stop, I’ll not say another word, 
so there! Well, then, Costantino was arrested, and 
now the trial is just over, and the public prosecutor - 
has asked to have him sent to the galleys; but he’s a 


18 After the Divorce 


dog, that public prosecutor! They have evidence, to 
be sure; Costantino was seen on the night of the 
murder entering his uncle’s house, where he lived 
all by himself, like the wild beast that he was; and 
then their relations in the past—all true enough, but 
there are no proofs. Costantino was very contra- 
dictory, and full of remorse about something; he 
kept repeating: ‘ It is the mortal sin’; for you must 


know that he is a good Christian, and he thinks that 


this misfortune has been sent as a punishment be- 
cause he and Giovanna lived together before they 
were married by religious ceremony.” 

“ But tell me one thing: ie 

“Just wait a moment. I should add that now they 
have been married by religious ceremony—in prison! 
Yes, my dear, in prison; fancy what a horrid thing 
that was! Now don’t begin crying again, Giovanna; 
if you do, I'll throw this salt-cellar at your head. 
There she is, the goose! Every one told her not to 
do it. ‘Don’t be married now,’ they said. ‘If he’s 
found guilty and sentenced, you can marry some one 
else!’ ” 

“How contemptible!’’ began the young woman, 
with flashing eyes, but the mother merely turned a 
cold, penetrating look upon her, and she broke off 
at once. 

“Did J say so?” demanded the other. ‘“ No, it 
was other people, and they said it for your own 
good.” 

“For my good, for my good,’ moaned Giovanna, 





OO 


After the Divorce 19 


burying her face in her hands; “there is no more 
good for me, ever again, ever again! ” 

“ Have you children? ’’ asked Paolo. 

“Yes, one, a boy. If it were not for him—alas, 
alas! if Costantino is sentenced, and there were no 
child—then, oh, misery, misery !” And she 
seized her hair by the roots, and began to drag her 
head violently from side to side, like an insane per- 
son. 

“You mean that you would kill yourself, my be- 
loved?” asked Aunt Bachissia ironically. 

To the student there was something artificial in 
the action; it reminded him of a famous actress 
whom he had once seen in a French comedy, and 
this open display of grief only aroused his cyni- 
cism. 

“ After all,” said he, “the new divorce law has 
been approved, and any woman whose husband is 
serving a sentence can regain her freedom.” 

Giovanna did not appear so much as to take in 
what he said, and continued to rock her head from 
side to side. Aunt Porredda, however, spoke up in 
a decided tone: “ What an idea! as though any one 
but God could undo a marriage!” 

“ Yes, I read about that in the papers,” said Uncle 
Efes Maria jocularly. ‘‘ Those are the divorces they 
get on the Continent, where men and women marry 
over and over again without troubling themselves 
about priests, or magistrates either, for that matter, 
but here!—shame! ” 





20 After the Divorce 


“No, Daddy Porru, that’s not on the Continent, 
it’s in Turkey,” said Grazia. 

“ Here too, here too,’”’ said Aunt Bachissia, who 
had eagerly followed every word. 

As soon as supper was over the two Eras went 
off to see their lawyer. 

“What room have you given them?” asked Pa- 
olo. “ The ‘ strangers’ room’? ” 

“Why, of course; why?” 

“ Because [ really thought I should like to sleep 
there myself; it is suffocating down here. What 
better ‘stranger’ could there be than I?” 

“ Be patient just till to-morrow, my boy. Remem- 
ber these are poor guests.” 

““O Lord! what barbarous customs! Will there 
ever be an end to them?” he exclaimed impatiently. 

“That’s just what I should like to know,” said 
Uncle Efes Maria. “‘ These women are draining my 
pockets. Well, what do you think of the new Min- 
istry?” 

“TI don’t think anything of it at all!” laughed the 
student, recalling a character in the Dame chez 
Maxim, a favourite play at the Manzoni Theatre, 
which he frequented. Then he sauntered off to look 
at some books he had left on a shelf at the other end 
of the room. Minnia and the boy had run out into 
the courtyard; Grazia, seated at the table, with both 
cheeks resting on her closed fists, was still gazing 
at her uncle. He turned towards her: 

“You read novels, don’t you?” 


After the Divorce 21 


“TI? No,” she answered, turning red. 

“ Well, I only wanted to say that if I ever catch 
you reading certain books—I’ll rap you over the 
head with them.” 

Her under-lip began to tremble, and, not to let 
him see her cry, she jumped up and ran out. In the 
courtyard she found the two children still quarrelling 
over the purse with the picture of the Pope. “As 
for stealing,” the boy was saying, “ you had better 
keep quiet about that ; you, and she there—the bean- 
pole—you two sold some wine to-day, and kept the 
money!” 

“Oh, what a lie!” cried Grazia, falling upon him 
and dealing him a blow, but crying herself bitterly 
all the while. 

The courtyard was filled with the chirping of the 
crickets and the noise of the horses’ hoofs; and the 
warm, starlit air was heavy with the scent of the 
hay. 

“You must not be hard on her, she is a poor 
orphan,” said Aunt Porredda, speaking in Grazia’s 
behalf (they were the three children of an older son 
of the Porrus’, a well-to-do shepherd whose wife had 
died the year before). “ And why not let her read 
if she wants to?” 

“Yes, yes, let her read by all means,” said Uncle 
Efes Maria pompously. “ Ah! if they had: only 
allowed me to read when I was young—I would 
have been an astronomer, as learned as a priest!” 
To Uncle Efes Maria an astronomer represented the 


22 After the Divorce’ 


height of learning and cultivation—a philosopher, 
as it were. | 

“‘ Have you seen the Pope, my son?” asked Aunt 
Porredda, from an association of ideas. 

¥Nos” 

“What! You have never seen the Pope?” 

“Oh! what do you expect? The Pope is kept 
shut up in a box; if you want to see him, you've 
got to pay well for it.” 

“Oh, go along!”’ said she. “ You are an infidel,” 
and, going out to where the children were still fight- 
ing, she made a rapid descent upon them, separated 
the belligerents, and sent each flying in a different 
direction. “On my word!” she cried, “you are 
just like so many cocks. The Lord have mercy on 
me! Here they are, the chicken-cocks! Bad chil- 
dren, every one of you, bad, bad children!” 

And the lamentations of the youngsters arose and 
mingled with the noises of the summer evening. 


CHAPTER II 


HE next morning Giovanna was the first to 
awaken. Through a pane of glass set in the 
door came a faint, roseate, sunrise glow; and the 
early morning silence was broken only by the chat- 
tering of the swallows. Not yet fully aroused, her 
first sensations were agreeable; then, all at once it 
was as though a terrific clap of thunder had sounded 
in her ear. She remembered! 

This was the day that was to decide her husband’s 
fate. She knew for a certainty that he would be 
condemned, and yet she persisted in hoping still. It 
mattered very little to her whether or no he were 
guilty; probably she had not at any time troubled 
herself much with that aspect of the case, and what 
wholly concerned her now were the consequences. 
The thought of being parted, perhaps forever, from 
this man, young, strong, and active as a greyhound, 
with his caressing hands and ardent lips, was agony ; 
and as the full consciousness of her misery came over 
her, she jumped out of bed, and began drawing on 
her clothes, saying breathlessly: “It is late, late, 
late.”’ 

Aunt Bachissia opened her little firefly eyes, and 
then she also got up; but she realised too clearly 


23 


24 After the Divorce 


what that day, and the next, and the year following, 
and the next two, and five, and ten years would 
probably be like, to be in any haste to begin them. 
She dressed deliberately, plunged her hands into 
water, passed them across her face, and dried it, 
then carefully arranged the folds of her scarf about 
her head. 


“It is late,” repeated Giovanna. ‘‘ Dear Lord, 


how late it is!’’ But her mother’s calm demeanour 
presently quieted her. Aunt Bachissia went down to 
the kitchen and Giovanna followed. Aunt Bachissia 
prepared the café-au-lait and bread for Costantino 
(the two women were allowed to take food to the 
prisoner), placed them in a basket, and started for 
the jail, Giovanna still following. 

The streets were deserted; the sun, just appearing 
above the granite peaks of Orthobene, filled the at- 
mosphere with fine, rose-gold dust. The sky was 
so blue, the little birds so gay, and the air so still 
and fragrant, that it was like the early morning of 
some festal day, before the human bustle and the 
ringing of the church bells have disturbed the still- 
ness and charm. 

Giovanna, crossing the street that leads from the 
station—near which the Porrus lived—to the prison, 
gazed upon her own violet-coloured mountains in the 
distance, hemming in the wild valleys below like a 
setting of amethysts; she inhaled the delicious air 
filled with the perfume of growing things; she 
thought of her little slate-rock house, of her child, 


After the Divorce ae 


of her lost happiness, and it seemed as though her 
heart would burst. 

The mother walked briskly on in front, poising the 
basket on her head. Presently they reached the 
great, round, white, desolate pile in which are the 
prisons. A sentry stood, mute and immovable, look- 
ing in the morning light like a statue carved out of 
stone. A single green shrub growing against the 
blank expanse of wall seemed the rather to accen- 
tuate the dreariness of the spot. A huge, green 
door, which from time to time opened and shut 
like the mouth of a dragon, now opened and swal- 
lowed up the two women. Every one in that 
dismal abode had come to know them; from the 
florid, important-looking head-keeper, who might 
have been a general at the very least, down to the 
junior custodian, with his pale face, his straight 
blond moustache, and his pretensions to elegance. 

The visitors were not allowed to penetrate beyond 
the gloomy passageway, whose fetid atmosphere, 
however, gave some idea of the horrors that lay be- 
yond. The pale and elegant guard, coming forward, 
took their basket, and Giovanna asked in a low voice 
if Costantino had slept. 

Yes, he had slept, but he kept dreaming all the 
time. He did nothing but repeat over and over 
again the words—“ The mortal sin!” 

“Ah! may he go to the devil with his mortal 
sin!” exclaimed Aunt Bachissia angrily; “‘ he ought 
to stop it!” 


26 After the Divorce 


“Mamma, dear, why need you swear at him? 
Has not fate cursed him enough as it is?” mur- 
mured Giovanna. 

The women now left the building and stood out- 
side, waiting for the prisoner to be brought forth. 
When Giovanna’s eyes fell upon the group of carbi- 
neers who were to escort him to court, she fell to 
trembling violently, although on all the preceding 
days she had seen precisely the same thing; and her 
big, black eyes, stretched to their widest extent, 
fastened upon the great doorway with the unsee- 
ing stare of a crazy woman. Slowly the minutes 
lagged by, then the dragon mouth opened, and once 
more, surrounded by stony-faced guards with 
fierce black moustaches, the figure of Costantino 
appeared. 

He was tall and as lithe as a young poplar tree; 
a long lock of lustrous black hair hung down on 
either side of a face, beardless, pallid from prison 
confinement, and almost feminine in its beauty. The 
eyes were large, and chestnut-brown in colour; the 
mouth small, and as innocent as a child’s, and there 
was a little cleft in the middle of the chin. He 
looked like a young Apollo. 

The moment his eyes fell upon Giovanna, al- 
though he too had been waiting for that moment, 
he grew whiter than ever, and stopped short, re- 
sisting the guards. Giovanna rushed forward, sob- 
bing, and seized hold of his manacled hands. 

“Forward!” said one of the carbineers; then, 


After the Divorce 27 


gently, to her: “ You know, my girl, it is not al- 
lowed.” 

Aunt Bachissia now stepped forward as well, dart- 
ing rapid glances out of her little green eyes. The 
escort halted for an instant, and Costantino, smiling 
bravely, said in a voice that was almost cheerful: 
“Courage! Courage!” 

“The lawyer is waiting for you,” said Aunt Ba- 
chissia, and then the guards pushed the women 
gently aside. 

“Stand back, good people! Out of the way!”’ 
said one, and they led the prisoner off, still smiling 
back at Giovanna, his gleaming white teeth showing 
between lips that were still round and full, albeit 
colourless. Thus he disappeared from view between 
his stony-faced conductors. 

Aunt Bachissia now, in her turn, dragged off Gio- 
vanna, who wanted to follow her husband, and in- 
sisted that she should return first to the Porrus’ for 
breakfast. 

They found the courtyard bathed in sunlight. It 
played upon the shining leaves of the grape-vines, 
from which hung bunches of unripe grapes like pale- 
green marble; the swallows disporting in it were 
moved to pour forth floods of song; and it tricked 
out Uncle Efes Maria, preparing to set out for the 
country on his chestnut horse. How full of light 
and cheerfulness seemed that little, enclosed spot, 
with its low stone-wall, beyond which could be seen 
a broad expanse of open country, stretching away 


28 After the Divorce 


to the distant horizon! The children sat on the 
threshold of the kitchen door, devouring their break- 
fast of bread soaked in café-au-lait ; Grazia had taken 
hers to a retired corner, possibly in order not to be 
seen engaged upon anything so prosaic by the stu- 
dent-uncle. He, meanwhile, stood in his shirt-sleeves 
in the middle of the enclosure, gulping down the 
contents of a great bowl. 

“ How large is St. Peter’s?”’ asked Aunt Por- 
redda, who was polishing the doctor’s shoes, and 
marvelling the while to hear of the wonderful things 
he had seen. 

“How large? Why, as large as a tanca.* You 
can’t even pray there; no one could say his prayers 
in atanca. The angels are as large as that gateway 
—the littlest ones—those that hold the holy-water 
basins.” ; 

“Ah! then you have to go upstairs to reach the 
water?” 

“No; they are on their knees, I think. Give me 
a little more café-au-lait, mamma; is there any? ” 

“ Of course there is. It seems to me you have 
come back very hungry, my little Paolo; you're a 
regular shark!” 

“Do you know how much this breakfast would 
cost in Rome? One franc! not a centime less; and 
then the milk is all water!” 

“The Lord preserve us! Why, that is fright- 
ful!” 

“What do you think? I saw some dolphins at 

* An enclosed pasture, but of vast extent. 


After the Divorce | 29 


sea; the strangest-looking creatures Oh! here 
are our guests; good-morning; what have you been 
about?” 

Giovanna described the meeting with her husband, 
and was beginning to cry again, when Aunt Por- 
redda took her by the hand and led her into the 
kitchen. 

“ You have need of all your strength to-day, my 
soul,’ said she, setting before her a large cup of 
café-au-lait. <A little later the two women started 
out again for the Court of Assize; Paolo promising 
to join them there. 

“ Courage!” said Aunt Porredda, as she took 
leave of Giovanna, and the latter heard her hus- 
band’s sentence in the kind hostess’s tone, and went 
off with the look of a whipped dog. 

Paolo followed her with his eyes; then, limping 
across the courtyard to his mother, he said a sin- 
gular thing: 

“Listen to me, mamma; before two years have 
gone by that young woman will be married to some 
one else!” 

“What do you mean by saying such a thing, Dr. 
Pededdu! ” cried the mother, who always addressed 
her son by his nickname when she was angry with 
him. “ Upon my word, you must be crazy!” 

“Oh! mamma, I have crossed the sea,” he re- 
plied. ‘‘ Let us hope, at all events, that she will 
engage me as her lawyer.” 

“That young man devours his food like a dog,” 





30 After the Divorce 


said Giovanna to her mother, as they descended the 
steep little street. ‘‘ May the Lord have mercy on 
him!” 

Aunt Bachissia, walking along plunged in thought, 
answered through her clenched teeth, “He will 
make a good lawyer; he will gnaw his clients to 
the bone and then swallow them whole!” 

Then the two walked on in silence, but a moment 
later Aunt Bachissia stumbled, and as she did so, 
for some reason that she could not fathom, it flashed 
into her mind that, should it ever so fall out that 
Giovanna were to apply for a divorce, she would 
ask Paolo to be their lawyer. 

It was eight o’clock when they reached the Cathe- 
dral Square, and the small windows of the Court 
House close by were sending back dazzling reflec- 
tions of the early morning sun. 

The little granite-paved square was already 
crowded with country friends and neighbours, wit- 
nesses in the trial. Some of these immediately 
approached the two women, and greeted them 
with the inevitable commonplace: “ Courage! Cour- 
age!” 

“Oh! courage; yes, we have plenty of it, thank 
you,” said Aunt Bachissia. “ Now leave us in 
peace.” And she continued on her way, as proud 
and erect as a race-horse. The road was only too 
familiar already, and she followed it straight to the 
fateful hall. Behind her came Giovanna, and behind 
her, the others: heavily bearded, roughly clad men; 


After the Divorce 31 


a handful of idlers; last of all, a near-sighted old 
woman with no teeth. 

The jury, most of them old and fat, were already 
in their places. One of them had an enormous 
hooked nose; two others, fierce-eyed, thickly bearded 
men, looked like bandits; three sat in a little group 
with their heads close together, laughing over some- 
thing in a newspaper. 

In a few moments the judge appeared, his rosy 
face surrounded by a straggling white beard. Then 
came the public prosecutor, a young man with a fair, 
drooping moustache, flushed and tyrannical-looking. 
Then the registrar, the ushers—all of these func- 
tionaries looking to Giovanna, in their black robes, 
like so many evil genii come to weave their fatal 
spells about poor Costantino. 

And there he was himself! Erect in the cage, like 
some frightened animal held in leash by the two 
stony-faced carbineers. His gaze was fastened upon 
Giovanna, but now there was no smile; he seemed 
overpowered by the weight of his misery; and, as his 
glance fell upon those men, the arbiters of his fate, 
his clear, childlike eyes contracted and grew dark 
with terror. 

Giovanna, too, seemed to feel the grip of an iron 
hand on her heart, and at times the sensation was 
so acute as to give her actual physical pain. 

The lawyer for the defence, a little pink-and- 
yellow man, with a high-pitched, querulous voice, 
began his speech. 


32 After the Divorce 


His defence had been sufficiently unfortunate 
from the first; now he merely repeated what had 
already been said; and his words seemed to fall into 
space like drops of water dripping into a great empty 
vessel, The public prosecutor, with his drooping 
moustaches, maintained an air of insolent indiffer- 
ence. A few of the jury appeared to take credit to 
themselves for sitting through it with patience; 
while the others, so far as could be observed, did 
not so much as pretend to listen. The only persons 
present, in fact, who really took any interest in the 
summing up of the defence were Aunt Bachissia, 
Giovanna, and the prisoner; and the longer their 
advocate talked, the more did these feel that their 
case was hopelessly lost. 

From time to time some new arrival would take 
one of the seats behind Giovarina, and whenever this 
happened, she would turn quickly to see if it were 
Paolo. For some reason she found herself ardently 
wishing for him; she felt as though his mere pres- 
ence in the courtroom might help them in some 
way. 

At last the lawyer ceased. Instantly, Costantino 
arose, and, growing very red in the face, asked if 
he might speak. “‘ The—the ’’—said he, pointing in 
the direction of the advocate—“ the gentleman-law- 
yer has spoken—he has defended me—and I thank 
him kindly; but he has not spoken the way I could 
have wished; he did not say—well, he did not 
say: >? 





After the Divorce 33 


He stopped, breathing hard. 

“Add anything to your defence that occurs to 
you,” said the judge. 

The prisoner stood for a moment with his eyes 
cast down, in an attitude of deep thought. The 
flush died out of his face, leaving it whiter than 
before; presently he passed his hand across his fore- 
head with a convulsive movement, and raised his 
head. 

“ This is it,” he began ina low tone. “ I—I “4 
but again his voice failed; then, suddenly clenching 
his fists, he turned towards the lawyer, and burst 
out in a voice of thunder: “ But I am innocent! I 
tell you I am innocent!” 

The lawyer hastily motioned with his hand to 
quiet him; the judge raised his eyebrows, as though 
to say: “And suppose he had said so a hundred 
times, is it our fault that we are not convinced? ”’ 
And a woman’s sob was heard through the court- 
room. 

Giovanna had broken down, and Aunt Bachissia 
at once dragged her towards the door, reluctant and 
tearful. Every one but the public prosecutor 
watched the struggle between the two women. 

A little later the court withdrew to deliberate. 

Aunt Bachissia, followed by two of the neigh- 
bours, hauled Giovanna into the square, where, in- 
stead of trying to comfort her, she fell to scolding 
her roundly. Was she quite mad? Did she want to 
be removed by force? “If you don’t behave your- 





34 After the Divorce 


self,’ she concluded, “I declare I'll give you a good 
beating ! ” 

“Mamma, oh! mamma,’ sobbed the other. 
“ They are going to condemn him! They are going 
to take him from me, and I can do nothing, I can do 
nothing——_! ”’ 

“What do you expect to do?”’ asked one of the 
neighbours. “ As sure as I am alive there is nothing 
for you to do. Be patient, though, and wait a little 
longer i 

At this moment three figures in black appeared, 
one of them laughing and limping. They were 
Paolo Porru and two young priests, friends of 
his. 

“There she is now,” said the student. “ It looks 
as though he had been sentenced already! ” 

“Upon my word,” remarked one of the priests, 
“she is indeed a young colt! One that knows how 
to kick, too! She looks id 

The other one, meanwhile, was staring curiously 
at Giovanna, and as they all three approached the 
Eras, Paolo asked if the argument had closed. “ It’s 
the man who murdered his uncle, isn’t it? ” enquired 
one of the priests. The other continued to stare 
at Giovanna, who had begun to regain her self- 
control. 

“ He has murdered no one at all,” said Aunt Ba- 
chissia haughtily. “‘ Murderer yourself, black crows 
that you are!” 

“Crows, are we? Well, you are a witch!” re- 








After the Divorce 35 


torted the priest. Upon which the bystanders began 
to laugh. 

Giovanna, meanwhile, at the solicitation of Pa- 
olo, had become quite calm, and she now promised 
not to make a scene if they would let her return to 
the courtroom. They all, accordingly, went in to- 
gether, and found that the jury, after a brief delib- 
eration, were already taking their seats. A pro- 
found silence fell upon the dim, hot room. Géio- 
vanna heard an insect humming and buzzing against 
one of the windows; her limbs grew heavy; she felt 
as though her body, her arms, her legs, were strung 
on rods of ice-cold iron. Then the judge pronounced 
the sentence in a low, careless voice, while the pris- 
oner looked at him fixedly and held his breath. Gio- 
vanna kept hearing the buzzing of the fly, and was 
conscious of a feeling of intense dislike for that rosy, 
white-bearded man, not so much on account of what 
he was saying, but because he said it with such an 
air of indifference. And this was what it was: 

A sentence of twenty-seven years’ imprisonment 
“for the homicide who, after long premeditation, 
had at last committed the crime upon the person of 
his guardian and own uncle by blood!” 

Giovanna had so entirely prepared her mind to 
expect thirty years, that for the first moment twenty- 
seven seemed a respite, but it was only for a mo- 
ment; then, swiftly realising that in thirty years 
three count for nothing, she had to bite her lips vio- 
lently to keep back the shriek that rose to them. 


36 After the Divorce 


Everything grew dim before her; by a desperate 
effort of the will she forced herself to look at 
Costantino, and saw, or thought she saw, his face 
old and grey, his eyes, dim and vacant, wander- 
ing aimlessly about him. Ah! he was not looking 
at her, he was not even looking at her any more! 
Already he was parted from her forever. He was 
dead, though still among the living; they had killed 
him! Those fat, self-satisfied men, who sat there 
in perfect indifference, awaiting their next victim. 
She felt her reason forsaking her, and suddenly a 
succession of piercing shrieks rent the air; some one 
seized her, and she was dragged out again into 
the sunlit square. 

“ Daughter! daughter! Do you know what you 
are doing? You must be mad! You are howling 
like a wild beast!” cried Aunt Bachissia, grasping 
her by the arm. “ And what good willitdo? There 
is the appeal still,—the Court of Cassation,—do be 
quiet, my soul!”’ 

All this had happened in a few moments. The wit- 
nesses, the lawyer, Paolo Porru, and the others now 
came crowding around the women, trying to think 
of something to say to comfort them. Giovanna, 
dry-eyed and staring, was sobbing in a heartbroken 
way, disjointed sentences falling from her lips, ex- 
pressions of passionate tenderness for Costantino, 
and wild threats and imprecations addressed to the 
jury. She begged so hard to be allowed to remain 
until the condemned man should be brought out, that 


After the Divorce | 37 


they agreed. At last he appeared; bent, livid, 
sunken-eyed ; grown prematurely old. 

Giovanna rushed forward, and, as the carbineers 
made no motion to stop, she went ahead of them, 
walking backwards, smiling into her husband’s face, 
telling him that it would all be set right in the Court 
of Cassation, and that she would sell everything, to 
the very clothes on her back, in order to save him. 
But he only stared back at her, wide-eyed, unseeing ; 
and when the carbineers pushed her gently aside, one 
of them saying: “ Go away, my good woman, go off 
now, and try to be patient,” he too said: “ Yes, go 
away, Giovanna, try to get permission to see me 
before I am een away, paar the child, and 
take courage.” 

So Giovanna and her mother went back to the 
house, where Aunt Porredda embraced and wept 
over them; then, however, appearing to repent of 
such weakness, she set about to remedy it. 

“Well,” said she. “‘ Twenty-seven years, what is 
that after all? Suppose he had been sentenced to 
thirty, would not that have been worse? What! 
You are going away? In this heat! Why, you 
must be crazy, both of you; upon my word, I shan’t 
let you go.” 

“Yes,” said Aunt Bachissia; “ we must get off; 
the others are all going back now, and will be com- 
pany for us. But if it won’t be putting you out too 
much, Giovanna will return in a few days and bring 
the boy.” 


38 After the Divorce 


“Why, bless you! is not this house the same as 
your own?” 

They sat down to dinner, but Giovanna, though 
now perfectly calm, would touch nothing. Two or 
three times Aunt Porredda attempted to talk on 
indifferent subjects: she asked if the boy had cut 
his first teeth ; remarked that travelling in such heat 
might make them ill; and enquired about the barley- 
crop in their neighbourhood. 

Profound peace brooded over the courtyard. The 
sun poured down on the grape-vines overhead, and 
traced delicate lacework patterns on the paving 
where it filtered through the leaves. The swallows 
flew hither and thither, singing joyously. Paolo sat 
reading the newspaper as he ate his dinner. Grazia 
and Minnia,—the boy had gone off with his grand- 
father,—in their sparse, tumbled little black dresses, 
kept falling asleep over theirs, overpowered by the 
noontide somnolence. Aunt Porredda’s words 
floated dreamily out into all this sunlight and peace, 
into which Aunt Bachissia’s tragic mien, and Gio- 
vanna’s mute air of woe, seemed to strike a note of 
discord. 

The moment the meal was ended, the visitors 
packed their wallet, saddled their horse, and said 
farewell. Paolo promised to see their lawyer about 
the appeal to the Court of Cassation, and as soon 
as they were well out of sight, began to play with 
-Minnia, forcing her to shake off her drowsiness, and 
pretending that he was crazy. He would first laugh 


After the Divorce 39 


uproariously, shaking in every limb; then, suddenly 
become perfectly silent, staring ahead of him with 
wild fixed gaze; then break forth once more into 
peals of laughter. 

The girls were highly diverted; they too fell to 
laughing immoderately; and the sun-bathed court- 
yard and tranquil house, freed at last from the 
gloomy presence of the guests, was filled with sun- 
shine, and merriment, and peace. 


CHAPTER III 


EANWHILE, the Eras pursued their jour- 
ney under the burning July sun. The road 
at first led downwards to the bottom of the valley; 
then crossed it and ascended the violet-coloured 
mountains that, shutting in the horizon beyond, lost 
themselves in the haze that rose from the heated 
earth. It was a melancholy progress. The two 
women rode one horse, a dejected-looking beast, 
tractable and mild. Their travelling companions 
had gradually drifted away; some riding on ahead; 
others falling behind, but all alike were silent and 
depressed, overpowered by the suffocating heat, the 
stillness, and the sad outcome of their journey. They 
felt Costantino’s misfortune almost as keenly as the 
women themselves, and out of respect for Giovanna’s 
dumb agony, either remained silent, or, if they spoke, 
did so in undertones that awoke no echoes, and failed 
even to break the intense silence. 

Thus they travelled on, and on; descending stead- 
ily towards the bed of a torrent, whose course ran 
through the bottom of the valley. The path, though 
not very steep, was rugged and at times difficult to 
follow as it wound its way between rocks, stretches 
of barren, dusty ground, and yellow stubble. At 

40 


After the Divorce 41 


long intervals a scraggy tree would raise its solitary 
head; lifeless, immovable in the breathless atmos- 
phere, like some lonely hermit of the wilderness ; its 
shadow falling athwart the sun-baked earth, like 
that of a little wandering cloud, lost and frightened 
in the great expanse of light its presence alone seems 
to mar. Occasionally the shrill note of a wild bird 
would issue from one of these oases of shade, only 
to die away instantly, choked and overpowered by 
the weight of the all-embracing silence. Big purple 
thistles, pink-belled convolvuluses, and lilac mallows, 
rearing themselves here and there in defiance of the 
sun, seemed only to enhance the general air of deso- 
lation; while below and above stretched endless lines 
of ancient grey stone-walls, covered with dry yellow 
moss. Fields of uncut grain, with spears like 
yellow pine-cones, closed in the distance. 

On, and on, they went. Giovanna’s head was 
burning beneath her woollen kerchief upon which the 
sun’s rays beat mercilessly; and big tears coursed 
silently down her cheeks. She tried to hide them 
from her mother, who was riding on the saddle, 
while she was seated on the crupper, but Aunt Ba- 
chissia heard, Aunt Bachissia saw, even out of the 
back of her head; and presently she could contain 
herself no longer. 

“Look here, my soul,” said she suddenly, as they 
traversed the bottom of the valley, between great 
thickets of flowering oleanders; “ will you have the 
goodness to stop? What are you crying for, any- 


42 After the Divorce 


how? Haven’t you known it for months and 
months ? ” 

Instead of stopping, however, Giovanna only burst 
forth into loud sobs. Aunt Bachissia glanced 
around ; the others had all gone on ahead, and they 
were quite alone. 

“‘ Haven’t you known all along how it would be? ” 
she repeated, in low, even tones that seemed to Gio- 
vanna to come from an immeasurable distance and, 
sweeping by them, to be swallowed up in the sur- 
rounding void. “ Are you such a fool, my soul, as 
not to have known it from the first? Did he or did 
he not kill that infamous Vulture? If he killed 
him——”’ : 

“ But he never said he had done it!”’ interrupted 
Giovanna. 

“ Well! that was all that was needed, for him to 
be crazy enough to say so. My soul! just think for 
a moment, nothing more was wanting! For my 
own part, I always expected that some time or other 
he would crush that Vulture as one crushes a wasp 
that has stung him. You say Costantino is a good 
Christian! My soul! one would have thought that 
by this time you would begin to have some idea of 
what it means to hate! Would you, yes or no, if 
you had the chance, murder those men back there 
who condemned him? Very well, then. He mur- 
dered the Vulture, and to a certain extent I sympa- 
thise with him, because I know the human heart. 
But I have not forgiven him, and I never will for- 


After the Divorce 43 


give him, for taking the risks he did. No, that I 
will not, not for the love of God! He had a wife 
and a child, and if he were going to do it he should 
have gone about it more carefully. And now, that’s 
enough of it. Let the whole matter drop. You are 
still young, Giovanna; you must think of him as of 
one who is dead.” 

“ But he is not dead!” wailed Giovanna desper- 
ately. 

“Very well, then,” said Aunt Bachissia angrily. 
“ Go and hang yourself. There, do you see that tree 
over yonder? Well, go and hang yourself from it; 
but don’t torment me any more. You have always 
been a torment. If you had married Brontu Dejas 
everything would have been right; but no, you must 
have that beggar; very well, the best thing for you 
to do now is to hang yourself! ” 

Giovanna made no reply. In the bottom of her 
heart she too believed Costantino to be guilty, but 
she had long ceased to care. In her present misery 
all she took note of was the central fact of his con- 
demnation, and she could not understand why ordi- 
nary mortals should have the power so to dispose 
of a fellow-creature. Ah, how she hated that mys- 
terious, invincible power! She felt towards it as she 
did towards those horrible spirits, unseen, but felt, 
which fly abroad on stormy nights! 

On, and on, they went. Now they had crossed 
the valley and were slowly ascending the mountain 
on its further side. The sun began to sink towards 


bd 


44 After the Divorce 


the west, the horizon to open; the sky grew soft, and 
the landscape lost its look of utter desolation. The 
shadows of the mountain-peaks stretched down now, 
clear into the dim depths of the valley, where a few 
late dog roses still bloomed; a little breeze sprang up 
and filled the air with the odour of wild growing 
things. 

Insensibly every one’s spirits revived under the 
influence of this unlooked-for shade and coolness. 
One of their companions, joining the two women, 
began to recount an adventure a friend of his had 


had close to that very spot; at one point the story” 
became so entertaining that even Giovanna smiled 


faintly. 

On, and on. Now the sun was setting, and from 
the height they had attained they could make out 
the sea,.a bluish circle, bounded by the horizon. 
Finally, beyond a thick-growing mass of trees and 
bushes so sturdy as to withstand alike the wild win- 
ter blasts and the scorching heats of summer, lying 
in the midst of the melancholy uplands like an island 
in a sea of light and solitude, they descried their own 
village, the eyrie of a strong, handsome, and primi- 
tive people; shepherds for the most part, or peasants 
occupied in raising grain and honey. 

Green, rocky pastures, gay in the springtime with 
daffodils, and fragrant with mint and thyme, and 
fields of grain, hemmed in the little group of slate- 
stone cottages that gleamed in the sun like burnished 
silver. Here and there a good-sized tree cast its 


SE a 





| 





After the Divorce 45 


shadow athwart this quail’s nest, hidden away, as 
it were, amid the billows of ripening grain. Lines 
of green tamarisks, and a wilderness of thyme and 
arbute, lay beyond. Further still were the limitless 
stretches of the uplands, and above all spread a sky 
of indescribable softness and beauty. On the right, 
against this sky, the lonely mountain-peaks reared 
themselves like a company of sphinxes, blue in the 
morning, lilac at noonday, and purple or bronze- 
coloured at evening; their rugged sides covered with 
forests, the home of eagles and vultures. 

_ It was nearly dark when the Eras at last reached 
the village. Mount Bellu, the colossus of that com- 
pany of sphinxes, had enveloped itself in a cloak of 
purple mist, and stood out against the pale, grey 
sky. The street was already silent and deserted, and 
the clatter of the horse’s hoofs on the rough stone 
paving resounded like the blows of a hammer. One 
after another their companions turned off, so that 
when they reached their own home, the two women 
were quite alone. 

The Era cottage stood on a little flat clearing, 
above the level of the street. Higher up on the hill- 
side, overlooking it, was another house, a white one. 
A large almond-tree, growing beside a piece of 
crumbling wall that extended from one corner of 
the cottage, overhung the street, which, beyond this 
point, merged into the open country. 

Scattered about on the level stretch of ground be- 
tween the two houses,—the grey cottage of the Eras 


46 After the Divorce 


and the white dwelling of the Dejases,—beneath the 
shadow of the almond-tree, lay a quantity of great 
boulders, convenient and comfortable resting-places ; 
hence the spot had come to be used by the villagers 
as a sort of common or place of public resort. 
Hardly had the horse stopped before the cottage, 
when Giovanna slid down and, with lagging steps 
and hanging head, advanced towards a woman,— 
a relative left in charge during their absence,—who 
came forward to meet them with the baby in her 
arms. Taking the child from her, Giovanna clasped 
it closely to her breast, and began to weep, burying 
her head on the chubby little shoulder. Her tears 
were now flowing quietly enough, a feeling of numb- 
ness and of utter despair crept over her, and the un- 
happiness of the preceding months seemed as nothing 
in comparison with the misery and desolation of 
the present moment. The baby, hardly yet five 
months old, had clear, violet eyes, and little, un- 
formed features set in a stiff, red cap with fringe 
hanging down over the forehead. He recognised 
his mother, and began pulling with all his strength 
on the end of her kerchief, kicking both little feet, 
and crying: “ Ah—ah—aah ¢ 

“ Malthinu, my little Malthineddu, my sole com- 
fort in all the earth; your daddy is dead,” sobbed 
Giovanna. 

The woman, understanding that Costantino had 
been found guilty, began to cry as well. Suddenly 
Aunt Bachissia descended swiftly upon them. Push- 





"After the Divorce 47 


ing Giovanna into the cottage, she asked the woman 
to help her unload the horse. 

“ Are you stark mad, both of you?” she demanded 
in a low voice. ‘ What need is there to carry on 
like that, right out here in sight of the white house? 
I can see the beak of that old Godmother Malthina 
now. Ah! she will be delighted when she hears 
of our bad luck.” 

“No,” said the woman, “she has come several 
times to ask for news of Costantino, and she always 
seemed to feel very sorry. She told me she had 
dreamed that he was condemned to penal servitude.” 

“Oh, yes! that is the kind of sorrow that an ill- 
tempered cur feels! I know her! She’s a venomous 
snake, and she can’t forgive us. After all,” she 
added a few minutes later, walking towards the cot- 
tage with the wallet on her back, “ she’s right; we 
can’t forgive ourselves.” 

Aunt Martina Dejas was the owner of the white 
house on the hill, and the mother of that Brontu 
Dejas whom Giovanna had refused to marry. She 
was very well off, but a miser, and Aunt Bachissia 
was quite mistaken in supposing that she hated them. 
As a fact, the refusal had affected her very little, 
either one way or the other. 

“ See here,” said Aunt Bachissia, when they had 
finished unloading the horse. “ Will you do me one 
favour more, Maria Chicca? Will you take back the 
horse and tell her that Costantino is to get twenty- 
seven years in prison? Then watch her face.” 


48 After the Divorce 


The woman took hold of the bridle, the animal 
having been hired from the Dejases, and led it to- 
wards the white house. 

This house, formerly the property of a merchant 
who had failed, had been bought at public sale a few 
years before. It was large and commodious, with 
a portico in front that gave it an almost seignorial 
air, but which was used as a promenade by Aunt 
Martina’s chickens and pigs. It was an inappropri- 
ate dwelling for rough shepherds like the Dejases, 
as was shown by its rude furnishings, composed 
mainly of high clumsy wooden bedsteads, roughly 
fashioned chests, and heavy chairs and stools. Aunt 
Martina was seated on the portico, spinning—she 
could spin even in the dark—when Maria Chicca 
approached, leading the horse. The house was en- 
tirely unlighted, Brontu and the men being off at 
the sheepfolds, while Aunt Martina never kept a 
servant. She had other sons and daughters, all mar- 
ried, with whom she lived in a constant state of 
warfare on account of her miserly habits. When- 
ever there was any especial stress of work, she got 
in some of the neighbours to help. Often Giovanna . 
and her mother were hired in this way, being paid 
in stale or injured farm produce. The Eras, how- 
ever, were too poor to refuse anything they could 
get. 

“ Well, what was the result?’’ asked the old 
woman, laying the spindle and a little ball of flax 
on the bench beside her. She had a thin, nasal voice; 


After the Divorce 49 


round, light eyes, placed close together; a delicate, 
aquiline nose, and lips that were still full and red. 
“You are crying, Maria Chicca. I saw those two 
poor women arrive, but I was afraid to go and ask, 
because I dreamed last night that he had been sen- 
tenced to penal servitude.” 

* Ah, no! they have given him twenty-seven years’ 
imprisonment.” 

Aunt Martina appeared to be disappointed; not, 
indeed, that she bore Costantino any ill-will, but 
because she had a firm belief in the infallibility of 
her dreams. 

She took the horse by the bridle, saying: 

*T will go to the Eras’ this evening, if I possibly 
can, but I’m not sure. There’s a man coming, he 
who worked for Basile Ledda; he is going to hire 
out to us. He was one of the witnesses; but I be- 
lieve he’s back, isn’t he? ” 

“Yes, I think he is,” said the other. And, re- 
turning to the cottage, she began at once to relate 
how Aunt Martina felt very sorry; and how she 
had dreamed that Costantino had got penal servi- 
tude; and that Giacobbe Dejas—he was a poor rela- 
tion of the other Dejases—was going to work for 
them. Giovanna, who was nursing the child, and 
gazing down at it sorrowfully, did not so much as 
raise her eyes. Aunt Bachissia, on the contrary, 
asked innumerable questions: Had she found the old 
Dejas alone? Was she spinning,—spinning there in 
the dark ?—etc., etc. 


50 After the Divorce 


“Listen,” she said to Giovanna. ‘“ She may be 
here this evening.” 

Giovanna neither moved nor looked up. 

“My soul! do you hear me?” cried the mother 
angrily. ‘‘ She may come down this evening.” 

“Who? ” asked Giovanna, in the tone of a person 
just awake. 

“ Malthina Dejas!” 

~“ Well, let her go to the devil!” 

“Who is to go to the devil?’ asked a sonorous 
voice from the doorway. It was Isidoro Pane, an old 
leech-fisher related to the Eras. He had come on a 
visit of condolence. Tall, with blue eyes and a yel- 
low beard, a bone rosary about his waist, and clasp- 
ing a long staff with a bundle fastened to the top, 
Uncle Isidoro looked like a pilgrim. He was the 
poorest and the gentlest and the most peaceable in- 
habitant of Orlei. When he wanted to swear, all he 
said was: “ May you become a leech-fisher!’’ He 
and Costantino were great friends. Often and often 
had the two sung the holy lauds in church together, 
and the Eras had named him as a witness for the 
defence, because no one could testify better than he 
to the blameless character of the accused man. His 
name had, however, been rejected. What, indeed, 
would the testimony of a poor leech-fisher amount to 
when confronted with the majesty of the law! 

The moment she saw him, Giovanna gave way 
and began to sob. 

“The will of God be done!” said Isidoro, leaning 


After the Divorce 51 


his staff against the wall. “Be patient, Giovanna 
Era, you must not lose your trust in God.” 

“You know?” asked Giovanna. 

“Yes, I have heard. Well, he is innocent. And 
I tell you that even though he has been condemned 
to-day, to-morrow his innocence may be proved.” 

“Ah! Uncle Isidoro,” said Giovanna, shaking her 
head. “ Your confidence doesn’t impress me any 
longer. Up to yesterday I believed in you, but now 
I have lost faith.” 

“You are not a good Christian; this is Bachissia 
Era’s doing.” 

Aunt Bachissia, who regarded the fisherman with 
scant favour, and was always afraid of his bringing 
vermin into the house, turned on him angrily, and 
was about to launch forth into abuse, when another 
visitor arrived. He was presently followed by 
others, and still others, until at last the little cottage 
was filled with condoling neighbours; while Gio- 
vanna, who was really tired by this time even of 
weeping, felt it incumbent upon her to continue to 
sob and lament desperately. 

All the time, Aunt Bachissia kept watching for 
the rich neighbour, but she did not appear. Instead, 
there came Giacobbe Dejas, the man who was about 
to enter her service. He was a cheerful soul, about 
fifty years old; ordinary-looking, short, thin, smooth- 
shaven, and bald; with no eyebrows, and a decided 
squint ; the eyes, small and cunning, were of a non- 
descript colour, something between yellow and green. 


52 After the Divorce 


He had worked for Basile Ledda for twenty years, 
and had been called as a witness for the defence. In 
his testimony he had alluded to the ill-treatment 
Costantino had received from his uncle, but told 
also how the old miser had maltreated every one, 
his women and servants as well. Why, the very day 
before his death he had struck and kicked him— 
Giacobbe Dejas! 

“ Malthina Dejas is expecting you,’ said Aunt 
Bachissia. “‘ You had better go on up there.” 

“The devil cut off her nose!” replied Giacobbe. 
“T’'ll go presently. What I’m afraid of is of falling 
out of the frying-pan into the fire! She’s a worse 
miser than even he was.” 

“‘ If she pays you what you earn, you’ve no right 
to judge her,” said the ringing voice of Uncle Isi- 
doro. 

“Ah! you are there, are you?” said Giacobbe . 
mockingly. ‘‘ How are the legs? Pretty well punc- 
tured?” 

Isidoro regarded his legs, which were wrapped 
about with bits of rag. It was his habit to stand 
in stagnant water until the leeches attached them- 
selves to him. 

“That need not concern you,’ he answered 
quietly. ‘But it is not well to curse the woman 
whose bread you are going to eat.” 

“‘T shall eat my own bread, not hers, and that is 
our affair. Come now, Giovanna, take heart! What 
the devil! Do you remember that story I was tell- 


After the Divorce 53 


ing you on the road from Nuoro? Be sensible now, 
for this little chap’s sake. Costantino is not going 
to die in prison, I can tell you that myself. Give 
me the baby,’ he added, stooping down to take it, 
but finding the little fellow asleep, he straightened 
himself, and, placing a finger on his lips, “ Aunt Ba- 
chissia,”’ he said (he always used the “ Aunt” and 
“Uncle” even with people younger than himself), 
“do me a favour; send your daughter to bed; she 
has come to the end of her forces. And you, good 
people,” he continued, turning to the company, “ let 
us do something as well, let us take ourselves off.” 

One by one, accordingly, they all departed. Aunt 
Bachissia, seizing the stool upon which Isidoro Pane 
had been seated, took it outside and wiped it vig- 
orously. When she came in she found Giovanna 
fallen into a sort of a doze, and had to shake her in 
order to arouse her. 

The young woman opened her eyes, which were 
red and glassy; then she got up with the child in 
her arms. 

“Go to bed,” commanded the mother. 

She looked at the door, murmuring: “ Never 
again! He will never, never come back again! For 
a moment I thought I was waiting for him.” 

“Go to bed, go to bed,” said the mother, her voice 
harsher than ever. She gave Giovanna a push, and 
then, taking up the old brass candlestick, opened 
the door. 

The cottage consisted of a kitchen, with the usual 


54 After the Divorce 


stone fireplace in the centre and the oven in one 
corner, and two bedrooms, furnished in the most 
meagre way. Giovanna’s bedstead was of wood, 
very high, and provided with an extremely hard 
mattress and a red cotton counterpane. 

Aunt Bachissia took the little Martino, who was 
whimpering in his sleep, and laid him down, cradling 
him between her two hands, while Giovanna got 
ready for bed. When she was undressed and her 
head bare, the beautiful hair wound around it some- 
what in the fashion of the ancient Romans, the 
mother covered her carefully and went out. 

No sooner was she left to herself, however, than 
she threw off the covers and began to moan and 
lament. She was completely worn out with sorrow 
and fatigue, and her eyes were heavy with sleep, yet 
she could not rest. Confused pictures kept crowding 
through her brain, and, as though her mental an- 
guish were not already suffering enough, sharp 
pains shot through her teeth and temples. Every 
time she had one of these twinges it was as though 
some one had poured a jug of boiling water down 
her spine, and she shook with nervous terror. Alto- 
gether, the night was one long horror. 

From the adjoining room, the door of which 
stood open, Aunt Bachissia could hear Giovanna 
muttering and raving; now addressing Costantino 
in terms of extravagant endearment; then the jury 
with threats and imprecations. She herself, mean- 
while, lay wide awake, her brain clear and active,. 


After the Divorce 55 


going over every detail of what had taken place, 
and laying plans for the future. The sound of Gio- 
vanna’s grief only aroused a dumb sense of resent- 
ment in her breast, and yet, after a while, she too 
found herself weeping. 


CHAPTER IV 


N the evening of the following day, a Satur- 
day, Brontu Dejas, returning from the sheep- 
folds, was hardly off his horse before he began to 
grumble. Among themselves, the Dejases were no- 
torious grumblers, though with outsiders they were 
always extremely suave. Apart from this trait he 
was a good-natured devil; young and handsome, 
very dark and thin, of medium height, with a short 
curling red beard. He had beautiful teeth, and, 
when talking to women, smiled continually in order 
to show them. Coming home on this particular 
evening, he began to grumble because he found 
neither light nor supper awaiting him. It must be 
admitted that there was some justification; for, after 
all, he was a working-man, and week after week he 
would return from six days of toil to find a house 
as dark and squalid as a beggar’s hovel. 

“Eh! eh!” he said, as he began to unharness his 
horse. “This might as well be Isidoro Pane’s 
shanty! Let us have some light, at any rate, so we 
can see to swear. What is there for supper? ”’ 

“Bacon and eggs; there now, be patient,” said 
Aunt Martina. ‘ Did you know that Costantino 
Ledda had been sentenced to thirty years?” 

56 


After the Divorce $7 


“ Twenty-seven. Well, are those the eggs? My 
dear mamma, that bacon is rancid. Why don’t you 
give it to the chickens? the chickens, do you hear?” 
and he snapped his handsome teeth angrily. 

“They won’t eat it,” answered Aunt Martina 
tranquilly. “ Yes, twenty-seven. Ah! twenty-seven 
years, that is a long time. I dreamed he had got 
penal servitude.” 

“Have you been to see the women yet? How 
pleased they must be now with their fine entrees: 
Miserable beggars!” 

He had asked the question with evident curiosity, 
yet the moment his mother told him that she had 
been, and that Giovanna was tearing her hair and 
quite beside herself, while it was plain to see that 
Aunt Bachissia wished now that she had strangled 
her daughter before allowing her to make such a 
match, he turned on her furiously. 

“ What business had you to go near the den of 
those wretched beggars? ” 

“Ah! my son, Christian charity! You don’t 
seem to have any idea of what that is!’’ Aunt 
Martina liked, indeed, to pretend that she was a 
charitable person. ‘‘ Priest Elias was there too this 
morning; yes, he went to comfort them. Giovanna 
wants to take the baby to Nuoro for Costantino to 
see before they carry him off. I told her she was 
crazy to think of such a thing in this heat; but 
Priest Elias told her to go, and he nearly cried!”’ 

“What does he know about children! He is 


58 After the Divorce 


’ 


barren, like all the rest of them,” snarled Brontu, 
who hated the priests because his uncle, who had 
been rector in the village before Priest Elias Por- 
tolu came from Nuoro, had left all his property to 
a hospital. Aunt Martina had not forgiven this 
outrage either, but the old she-wolf knew how to 
disguise her feelings, and when Brontu railed 
against the priests she always made the sign of 
the cross. 

“What makes you talk that way, you fool?” said 
she, hastily crossing herself. ‘‘ You don’t know 
where your feet may carry you! Priest Elias is a 
saint. If he were to hear such evil talk as that— 
beware! He has the Holy Books, and if he chooses 
to, he can curse our fields, and bring the locusts, 
and make the bees die! ”’ 

“A fine saint!” exclaimed Brontu. Then he in- 
sisted upon hearing all the particulars about the 
Eras,—how Giovanna had cried out, what that old 
kite, Aunt Bachissia, had said 

“Well, Giovanna’s sobs were enough to melt the 
very stones; and Aunt Bachissia was in despair 
because now, in addition to all the rest, the lawyer’s 
fees and other expenses of the trial have stripped 
them of everything they possessed, even to the 
house.” 

The young man listened intently, his face beam- 
ing with satisfaction, and his white teeth gleaming. 
In his undisguised pleasure he was simply and 
purely savage. 





After the Divorce 59 


“ Listen,” said Aunt Martina, when she had fin- 
ished. ‘“ Giacobbe Dejas will be here presently to 
see you too. He wanted to begin his term of ser- 
vice to-morrow, but I told him to wait till Monday. 
To-morrow is a holiday, and there is no sense in 
our having him eat at our expense.” 

“ Beautiful St. Costantino! You are close, 
mamma.” 

“Oh, you; you are just like a child! What use 
is there in wasting things? Life is long and it 
takes a great deal to live.” 

“ And how are those two women going to live?” 
asked Brontu after a short silence, seating himself 
before the eggs and bread. 

“They will catch snails, I suppose,” said Aunt 
Martina scornfully. She had taken up her spindle 
again, and was spinning close to the open door. 
“You take a great interest in them, Brontu Dejas.”’ 

Silence. Within the room the only sounds were 
the rattle of the spindle and the noise of Brontu’s 
strong teeth, as he munched the hunks of hard 
bread; outside, though, beyond the portico, the 
crickets were chirping incessantly ; and from the far- 
away, deserted woods, through the warm, dim at- 
mosphere of the falling night, came the melancholy 
cry of anowl. Brontu poured out some wine, raised 
the glass, and opened his mouth, but not to drink. 
There was something he wanted to say to his 
mother, but the words would not come. He drank 
the wine, brushed some drops off his beard with 


60 After the Divorce 


the back of his hand, and again opened his mouth, 
but still the words died away. 

A sound of heavy boots was heard, tramping 
across the open space before the house. Aunt Mar- 
tina, still spinning, arose, told her son that Giacobbe 
Dejas was coming, and, taking the food and wine, 
put them away in the cupboard. 

Giacobbe saw the action as he entered, and at 
once understood that she was hiding something in 
order not to have to offer it to him; but, as he him- 
self would have put it, he was too much a “ man 
of the world” to allow any expression of resent- 
ment to escape him. 

He advanced, therefore, smiling and cheerful. 

““T will wager,” said he, laying one finger on his 
nose, “that you were talking about me.” 

“No, we were speaking of poor Costantino 
Ledda.”’ | 

“Ah, yes, poor fellow!” returned Giacobbe, be- 
coming serious at once. “ And when you think that 
he is innocent! As innocent as the sun! No one 
can be more sure of it than I.” 

Brontu threw himself back in an easy attitude, 
crossed his legs, and, turning slightly around, 
showed his teeth as he did when talking to women. 
“As to that, opinions may differ,” he said sharply. 
“There, for instance, is my mother; she dreamed 
that he had got the death sentence.”’ 

“Oh, no, Brontu! What are you talking about? 
Penal servitude! ” 


After the Divorce 61 


“Well, it amounts to the same thing. Now, we 
will talk business.” 

“Very well, let us talk business, by all means,” 
assented Giacobbe, crossing his legs as well. 

A little later the two men, having settled the 
matter in hand, went off together, Brontu leading 
the way to the tavern. He himself was not in the 
least close, and if he never offered a visitor a glass 
in his own house, it was only not to irritate Aunt 
Martina. At the tavern, though, he was superb, 
and on this particular evening he made Giacobbe 
drink so much, and drank so much himself, that 
they both became tipsy. 

Coming out at last into the silent, deserted street, 
filled with the odour of the dry fields, they began 
talking again of Costantino, and Brontu said, with 
brutal frankness, that he was glad of the sentence. 

“Go to the devil!” shouted Giacobbe. ‘ You 
have no heart!” 

“ All right, that’s it; I have no heart.” 

* Just because Giovanna wouldn’t have you, you 
are glad to hear of the death, or worse than death, 
of a brother.” 

“'He’s not dead, and he’s not a brother; and it 
was I who would not have Giovanna Era. If I 
had wanted her to, she would have licked the soles 
of my shoes.” 

“ Bum—bum—look out, or you'll have a tumble, 
my little spring bird. You lie like a servant-maid.”’ 

* [—_I—am—not—a—a—-servant-maid,” stam- 


62 After the Divorce 


mered Brontu, furious. ‘If you say anything like 
that again, I’ll take you by the crown of your head 
and choke you.” 

“ Bum—I tell you, you’ll fall down, little spring 
bird,” repeated Giacobbe at the top of his lungs. 
Their voices rang out through the quiet street ; then 
they suddenly ceased talking, and stillness reigned 
once more. In the distance, under the light of the 
stars which overhung the mountain crests like gar- 
lands of golden flowers, the owl still sounded his 
melancholy note. 

All at once Brontu began to cry in a strange, 
drunken fashion, with neither sobs nor tears. 

“Well, what is the matter now?” demanded Gia- 
cobbe in a low tone. “ Are you drunk?” 

“Yes, I am. Drunk with poison, you galley 
refuse. I only hope you will be strangled yet!” 

At this the other felt very indignant. Not only 
had he never been to prison, but he had never so 
much as been accused of any offence against the 
law. Yet, mingled with his resentment, there was 
a vague feeling of terror. 

“You are going crazy!” said he in a still lower 
tone. “ What’s the matter with you? Why should 
you talk to me like that? Have I ever done any- 
thing to you?” 

Whereupon the other became confidential, and, 
groaning as though he were in physical pain, he 
declared that he was, in truth, madly in love with 
Giovanna, and that he had hoped, and prayed the 


After the Divorce 63 


devil, from the beginning, that Costantino would 
be found guilty. 

“Even if the devil were to get my soul it 
wouldn’t matter, because, you see, I don’t believe in 
him!” said he, breaking into a foolish, cackling 
laugh, more disagreeable to listen to even than 
his previous maudlin distress. “I intend to marry 
Giovanna,” he presently added. 

Giacobbe was greatly astonished at this, but he 
pretended fo be still more so. ‘‘ What!” said he. 
“ You take my breath away! How—why—what on 
earth do you mean? How can you marry her?”’ 

“ She will get a divorce, that’s all. Well, what 
of that? There’s a law that gives a woman the 
right to marry again if her husband has been sent to 
prison for a long sentence.” 

Giacobbe had heard some talk of this, but no 
case of legal divorce, still less of remarriage, had 
as yet been heard of in Orlei. Nevertheless, not to 
appear ignorant, he said: “ Oh, yes, I know; but it 
is a mortal sin. Giovanna Era will never do it!” 

“ That’s just what I am worrying about, Gia- 
cobbe Dejas. Will you talk to her on the subject 
to-morrow ? ” 

“Oh, yes, of course! To-morrow! You're an 
ass, Brontu Dejas! You may be rich, but you are 
as stupid as a lizard, stupider than one! Here, 
when you might marry a maid,—some rich young 
girl, as fresh as a rose with the dew still on it,— 
you want instead to have that woman! Upon my 


64 After the Divorce 


word, it will give me something to laugh at for 
the next seven months!”’ 

“ All right, you can laugh till you split in two, 
like a ripe pomegranate! But I’m going to marry 
her!” said Brontu angrily. “ There’s no other 
woman like her, and I shall marry her; you will 
see! ”’ 

“Well, do marry her, my little spring bird!” 
cried the other, bursting into a loud laugh. Brontu 
joined in, and they continued on their way uproari- 
ously till they saw a tall figure with a staff silently 
approaching them. 

“Uncle Isidoro Pane, did you have good sport?” 
shouted Giacobbe. “And your legs, have they 
plenty of punctures? ” 

“You had better turn leech-fisher yourself,” said 
the other, coming up to them. “ Whew! what a 
smell of brandy! Some one must have broken a 
cask near here! ” 

“Do you mean that you think we are drunk?” 
demanded Brontu in a bullying tone. “The only 
reason you don’t get drunk yourself is because you 
haven’t anything to do it with! Get away! get 
away, I tell you, or P’ll crush you like a frog!” 

The old man laughed softly, and walked on. 

“ Tdiot! ” said Giacobbe in an undertone. “ Don’t 
you know that. he could have helped you with Gio- 
vanna? He’s a friend of hers.” 

“Here! here!” shouted Brontu, turning around, 
and gesticulating with both arms. ‘‘ Come back! 


a ee 


After the Divorce 65 


come back, I tell you! ’Sidore Pane, che ti morsichi 
il cane!’’* he laughed, delighted with his rhyme. 
But Isidoro did not stop. 

“Do you hear me?” yelled the tipsy Brontu, stam- 
mering somewhat. “I tell you to come here! Ah! 
you won't do it, you little toad? I tell—you v 

But Isidoro silently pursued his way. 

“Don’t talk to him like that; what sort of way 
is this to carry on?” remonstrated Giacobbe. 
Brontu thereupon adopted a new method. 

“Little flower, come here, come here! Come 
listen to what I have to say. You may tell her 
—that friend of yours—well, yes, Giovanna, that 
is who I mean. You may tell her that if she gets 
a divorce I’ll marry her!” 

This had the desired effect. The old man stopped 
short, and turning around, called in a distinct voice: 

““ Giacobbe Dejas! ” 

“ What is it, my dear?” answered the herdsman 
mockingly. 

“ Make—him—keep—quiet!”’ returned Isidoro 
in the tone of a person who means to be obeyed. 

For some unexplained reason, Giacobbe felt a 
sudden sense of chill as he heard the tone and those 
four emphatic words. Taking his new master by 
the arm he drew him quickly away, murmuring: 

“You are a dunce! You behave as though you 
had no sense at all! What a way to talk!” 

“ Didn’t you tell me to yourself? ” 





* Che timorsichi il cane,—‘* May the dog bite you.” 


66 After the Divorce 


“TI? You are dreaming! Am I crazy?” 

They continued on their way, staggering along 
together, arm in arm. On the portico they found 
Aunt Martina, still spinning. She saw at once that 
her son was tipsy, but said nothing, knowing by 
experience that to irritate him when he was in that 
condition was only to arouse him to a state of fury. 
When he asked for wine, though, she said there 
was none. 

“Ah! there is none? No wine in the Dejas’ — 
house! The richest people in the neighbourhood! 
What a miserly mother you are.” Then he began 
to bluster: ‘I’m not going to make a scandal, but 
I can tell you I am going to marry Giovanna Era!” 

“Yes, yes, you are going to marry her,” said 
Aunt Martina to quiet him. “ But in the meantime, 
go to bed, and don’t make such a noise; if she hears 
you, she won’t have you.” 

He quieted down, but made Giacobbe unroll a 
couple of rush mats and spread them on the floor; 
then, throwing himself down, nothing would do but 
the herdsman must lie down as well, and sleep be- 
side him; and rather than have any trouble, Aunt 
‘Martina was obliged to agree, 

Thus it fell out that instead of beginning his 
term of service on the Monday, Giacobbe entered 
his new place on Saturday evening. 


CHAPTER V 


UNDAY morning, a fortnight later, found all 
the personages of our story assembled at 
Mass, with Priest Elias officiating. The country 
people said that when he celebrated he seemed to 
have wings. 

Giovanna alone was absent and this for two 
reasons. First, her late misfortune required the 
observance of a sort of mourning; she was expected 
not to show herself outside the house except when 
her work made it necessary. Apart from this, how- 
ever, she had fallen into a state of lethargy, and 
appeared to be quite unable to move about, to go 
anywhere, to work, or even to pray. She had, in- 
deed, never been much of a Christian at any time, 
though before the trial she had made a vow to walk 
barefoot to a certain church in the mountains, and, 
if Costantino were acquitted, to drag herself on her 
hands and knees from the point where the church 
first came into view to its doors; that is, a distance 
of about two kilometres. 

Now, she had ceased praying, or talking, or eat- 
ing, and even seemed to have lost all interest in 
her child. Aunt Bachissia had to feed him with 

67 


68 After the Divorce 


bread crumbled up in milk in order to keep the poor 
little fellow alive. Some of the neighbours said 
that Giovanna was losing her mind; and indeed it 
did look so. She would remain for hours at a time 
in a sort of stupor, crouched in a corner with her 
glassy eyes fixed on vacancy, and when she aroused 
it was only to fly into violent paroxysms, tearing 
her hair, and crying out wildly. 

After the final interview with Costantino, when 
she had had the child with her, she could think of 
nothing else, and described the scene in the prison 
over and over again, with the monotonous insist- 
ence of a monomaniac: 

“ He was there, and he was laughing. He was 
livid, and yet he laughed, standing there behind the 
| bars. Malthineddu seized hold of the bars, and he 
touched his little hands and then he laughed! My 
heart! my heart! don’t laugh like that; it hurts me, 
because I know that that is how dead people laugh! 
And the guards, standing there like harpies! At 
first they were good to us, those guards who watch 
over human flesh; but afterwards, when Costantino 
had been condemned, they were cruel, as cruel as 
dogs! Malthinu was frightened when he saw 
them, and cried; and his father laughed! Do 
you understand? The baby, the little, innocent 
thing, cried; he understood that his father had 
been condemned, and he cried! Oh, my heart! my 
heart!” 

Then Aunt Bachissia, beside herself with impa- 


After the Divorce | 69 


tience, and unable to hold in any longer, would ex- 
claim: 

“ Honestly, Giovanna, any one would take you 
to be two years old! That child there has more 
sense than you. Simpleton!” And sometimes she 
would threaten to beat her; but prayers, sympathy, 
and threats were equally unavailing. 

Meanwhile, word came from Nuoro that, while 
waiting to hear from the appeal, Costantino had 
been removed to the jurisdiction of Cagliari. Then 
came a short, sad, little letter from the prisoner him- 
self. The journey had gone well, but there, at Ca- 
gliari, the heat was suffocating, and certain red in- 
sects, and others of different colours, tormented him 
night and day. He sent a kiss to the child, and 
urged Giovanna to bring him up in the fear of God. 
He also asked to be remembered to his friend Isi- 
doro. On this Sunday, therefore, at the close of 
the Mass, Aunt Bachissia waited till the fisherman 
should have finished singing the sacred lauds in his 
ringing voice, in order to deliver Costantino’s mes- 
sage. 

Priest Elias remained kneeling on the steps of the 
high altar, with white ecstatic face, and Isidoro still 
sang on, but the people began to leave, filing past 
Aunt Bachissia, as she stood waiting. 

Aunt Martina passed, with the fiery bearing of a 
blooded steed, old but indomitable still; Brontu 
passed, dressed in a new suit of clothes, his hair 
shining with oil; he railed at the priests, but on 


70 After the Divorce 


Sunday he went to Mass; and Giacobbe passed, in 
a pair of new linen trousers, smelling strong of the 
shop. Still Isidoro sang on. , 

The church, at last, became almost empty; the fish- 
erman’s sonorous voice resounded among the dusty, 
white rafters; the boards and beams of the roof; 
the side altars, covered with coarse cloths, adorned 
with paper flowers, and presided over by melancholy 
saints of painted wood. 

When Uncle Isidoro stopped at length, there were 
only the priest, a boy who was extinguishing the 
candles, Aunt Bachissia, and an old blind man 
left. 

Isidoro had to repeat the final response to the 
lauds himself; then he got up, put away the little 
bell used to mark the Stations of the Rosary, and 
moved towards Aunt Bachissia, who stood waiting 
for him near the door. They went out together, 
and she gave him Costantino’s message; then she 
begged him to do her a favour; it was to ask Priest 
Elias to go to see Giovanna and try to reason her 
out of the condition she had allowed herself to 
fall into. He promised to do so, and they sep- 

arated. | 
On the way home Aunt Bachissia was joined by 
Giacobbe Dejas, who had been standing on the open 
square before the church, looking down at the village 
and the yellow fields, all bathed in sunlight. 

“ How are you?” asked the herdsman. 

“ Ah, good Lord! bad enough, without being ac- 


After the Divorce 71 


tually ill, And you, how do you like your new 
place?” 

“Oh! I told you how it would be. I’m out of 
the frying-pan into the fire! The old woman is as 
close as the devil; she expects me to work till I 
fall to pieces, and will hardly let me come in to 
Mass once a fortnight.” 

“ And the master? ”’ 

“Oh! the master? Well, he’s just a little beast, 
that’s all.” 

“What do you mean by saying such a thing as 
that, Giacobbe? ”’ 

“Well, it’s the simple truth, little spring bird. 
He growls and snarls over every trifle, and gets 
drunk, and lies like time. I suppose Isidoro Pane 
told you——-”” He paused, and Aunt Bachissia, fix- 
ing her small green eyes upon him, reflected that, if 
he talked like that about his master, he must have 
some object. 

“Well,” he resumed, “ Isidoro Pane must have 
told you—of course he told you, about Brontu being 
drunk that evening; it was just here, where we are 
now, Brontu yelled out: ‘ Tell Giovanna Era that if 
she gets a divorce I'll marry her!’ The beast, that’s 
just what he is, a beast! He drinks brandy by the 
cask.” 

Of the last clause of this speech, however, Aunt 
Bachissia took in not one word. The fact that 
Brontu had said he would marry Giovanna if she 
got a divorce was all she comprehended. Her 


72 After the Divorce 


green eyes flashed as she asked haughtily: “ And 
you wish him not to, Giacobbe? ”’ 

“IT? What difference would it make to me, little 
spring bird? But you ought to be ashamed of your- 
self to think of such a thing, Aunt Kite, hardly two 
weeks after ‘i 

“T’m not a kite,” snapped the old woman an- 
grily; and though the other laughed, she could see 
that he too was furious. 

“You might, at least, wait to hear from the ap- 
peal,’ said he. ‘ And then you can devour Costan- 
tino as you would a lamb without spot. Yes, de- 
vour him if you want to, but I can tell you that 
Giovanna will get a brandy-bottle for a husband, 
and just as long as Martina Dejas is alive you 
will starve worse than ever.” 

“Ah! you bald-pate——” began Aunt Bachissia. 
But Giacobbe walked rapidly away, and she had 
only the satisfaction of hurling abuse at his retreat- 
ing back. Not that she proposed to have Giovanna 
apply for a divorce. Heaven forbid! With poor 
Costantino still under appeal, and waiting there in 
that fiery furnace, devoured by horrible insects! 
No, indeed, but,—what right had that vile servant 
to talk of his master so? What business was it of 
his to meddle in his master’s concerns? And Aunt 
Bachissia decided then and there that that “ bald 
raven”? had himself taken a fancy to Giovanna; 
and, filled with this new idea, she reached the cot- 
tage. 





After the Divorce 73 


Her immediate thought was to repeat the whole 
story to Giovanna, but finding her, for the first time 
in two weeks, bathed, and tranquilly engaged in 
combing out her long hair, which fell down in heavy, 
tumbled masses, she was afraid to say a word. 


CHAPTER VI 


IME passed by; the autumn came, and then 
the winter. Costantino’s appeal had, of 
course, been rejected, as appeals always are. One 
night he was fastened by a chain to another convict, 
whom he had never seen, and the two took their 
places in a long file of others, all dressed in linen, 
all silent; like a drove of wild beasts controlled by 
some invisible power. They were going—where? 
They did not know. They were silent—why? They 
could not say. Presently they were all marched 
down to the water’s edge, put on board a long, black 
steamer, and shut into a cage—still like wild beasts. 
All about them lay the crystal sea, across whose 
dark, green waters the ruby and emerald reflections 
from the ship’s lights danced and sparkled like 
strings of glittering jewels; while above, engir- 
dling the great ring of water, hung the deep blue 
sky, like an immense, silent vale dotted over with 
yellow, starry flowers. At first Costantino’s sensa- 
tions were not altogether unhappy. True, he was 
going into the unknown to fulfil a cruel destiny, 
but down in the bottom of his heart he firmly be- 
lieved that before very long he would be liberated, 
and he never lost hope. 
74 


After the Divorce 75 


The bustle on deck, the rattle of the chains, and 
the first motion of the ship as it got under way, 
filled him with childish curiosity. He had never 
been to sea, but, as a boy, he had often stood scan- 
ning the horizon, and gazing at the grey stretch of 
the Mediterranean, sometimes dotted over with the 
white wings of sailing vessels. At such times, as 
he stood among the wild shrubs and undergrowth 
of his native mountains, he would dream of some 
day crossing that far-away sea to distant, unknown 
lands, and to the golden cities of the Continent. He 
could read and write, and had a book in which St. 
Peter’s at Rome was depicted; and in the chapter 
on sacred history there was an engraving of an- 
cient Jerusalem. Ah! Jerusalem. According to his 
ideas, Jerusalem must be the finest and largest city 
in the world; and, as he stood there dreaming 
among the bushes on Mount Bellu, and gazing off 
at the grey Mediterranean, it was to Jerusalem that 
he longed to go. And now, here he was crossing 
the sea; but how different from his dreams! Yet, 
so splendid was his conception of Jerusalem that 
if it had been thither that he was bound, even a 
chained and condemned prisoner on his way to ex- 
piate a crime, he would, nevertheless, have been 
content to go. 

The pitching and rolling of the ship was accom- 
panied by the ceaseless rush of the water from the 
bows. Some of the convicts chattered among them- 
selves, laughing and cracking jokes. Costantino 


76 After the Divorce 


fell asleep and dreamed, as he always did, that he 
was at home again. He had been set free almost 
immediately—he dreamed,—and had gone home 
without letting Giovanna know a word about it so 
as to give her the unutterable joy of the surprise. 
She kept saying: “ But this is a dream, this is a 
dream ”” The expenses of the trial had stripped 
the little house bare of everything, even the bed 
was gone; but nothing made any difference. All 
the riches in the world could not compare with the 
bliss of being free and of living with Giovanna and 
Malthineddu. But he was terribly tired, so he 
curled himself up in the baby’s cradle; the cradle 
rocked, harder and harder all the time. Giovanna 
laughed and called out: “‘ Be careful not to fall out, 
Costantino, my dear, my lamb!” And the cradle 
rocked more than ever. At first he laughed as 
well, but all at once he found he was suffering, 
then he fell head foremost on the ground, and 
woke up. 

There was a heavy sea on, and Costantino was 
sick. The ship struggled up to mountain-heights 
and then plunged swiftly into bottomless gulfs of 
water, the waves breaking even over the third deck. 

All the convicts were ill; some still attempted to 
joke, while others swore, and one, with a yellow, 
cunning face,—he was Costantino’s companion— 
moaned and lamented like a child. 

“Oh!” he groaned, cowering down, gasping 
and frightened. “I was dreaming that I was at 





After the Divorce 77 


home, and now—now—oh! dear St. Francis, have 
pity on me!” 

Notwithstanding his own misery, both physical 
and mental, Costantino felt sorry for him. “ Pa- 
tience, my brother, I was dreaming too about being 
at home.” 

“I feel,” cried another, “as though my soul were 
melting away. What the devil is the matter with 
this ship! It seems to be trying to dance the Sar- 
dian dance! ’’ Whereat some of the others still had 
sufficient spirit left to laugh. 

The storm was increasing. At times Costantino 
thought he was dying, and was frightened; yet, 
on the other hand, he felt an unutterable weariness 
of life. His soul seemed to be steeped in the same 
bitter fluid that his stomach was casting up. Never, 
not even at the moment when the sentence of con- 
demnation had been passed upon him, had he experi- 
enced anything like his present condition of hope- 
less misery. He too began to swear and groan, 
doubling his fists, and twisting his chilled toes. 
“May you die just as I am dying now, you mur- 
derous dogs, who brought all this on me!” he mut- 
tered, while tears as bitter as gall welled up into 
his eyes. 

Towards dawn the wind subsided, but even when 
the sickness had passed, Costantino found no relief ; 
he felt as though he had been beaten to the point of 
death, and he was shaking with cold, and exhaus- 
tion, and dread: The steamer relentlessly pursued 


78 After the Divorce 


its way. Oh, if it would only stop for just one 
moment! A single moment of quiet, it seemed to 
Costantino, would suffice to restore his strength; 
but this continuous forging ahead, the constant roll- 
ing, the never-ceasing roar of the waves as they 
lashed the sides of the vessel, kept him in a state 
of nervous tremor. On, and on, and on; the long 
hours of agony dragged slowly by; night came 
again; and all the time his subtle-faced, yellow-vis- 
aged companion hardly ceased to sigh and lament, 
driving Costantino into a perfect frenzy of irrita- 

tion. Sleep came at length, and then, strange to 
relate, he had the same dream as on the previous 
night, only this time it was Giovanna who was in 
the cradle, and the cradle was rocking quite gently. 

When Costantino awoke, the boat seemed hardly 
to move; in the silence that precedes the dawn, he 
heard a voice say: “‘ That is Procida.”’ 

He was shaking with cold, and wondered if they 
were to land there, where, he thought he remem- 
bered to have heard, the galleys were. 

Presently his companion awoke, shivering and 
yawning prodigiously. 

‘Are we there?” asked Costantino. ‘‘ How do 
you feel?” 

“Pretty well. Are we there? ” 

“TI don’t know; we are near Procida; is that 
where the galleys are? ”’ 

“No; they’re at Nisida,” said the other. “ But 
we are not galley-birds!” he added, with a touch 


After the Divorce 79 


of pride, and then fell to yawning again. “Oh, 
how I was dreaming!” he said, and then stopped, 
overcome by the memory of his dream. 

The prisoners were landed at Naples and imme- 
diately placed in a black-and-yellow van, something 
like a movable sepulchre. Costantino caught a brief 
glimpse of a wide expanse of smooth green water, 
a quantity of huge steamers, and innumerable small 
craft filled with gaily dressed men who shouted out 
all manner of incomprehensible things. All around 
the boats, on the surface of the green water, floated 
weeds, scraps of paper, refuse of all kinds. Enor- 
mous buildings were outlined against a sky of deep- 
est blue. At Naples, the convicts were separated ; 
Costantino was taken off to the prison at X 
and saw his yellow-visaged companion no more. 

On reaching his destination, Costantino was at 
once consigned to a cell where he was to pass the 
first six months of his term in solitary confinement. 
This cell measured hardly two metres in length by 
six palms in breadth: it was furnished with a rude 
folding bed, which, during the day, was closed and 
fastened against the wall. From the tiny window 
nothing could be seen but a strip of sky. 

Of the entire term of his imprisonment this was 
the dreariest period. He would sit immovable for 
hours with his legs crossed and his hands clasped 
about his knee—thinking; but strangely enough he 
never either lost hope or rebelled against his fate. 
He was persuaded that what he was enduring was 





80 After the Divorce 


in expiation of that mortal sin, as he regarded it, 
of having lived with a woman to whom he had not 
been married by religious ceremony, and he felt an 
absolute certainty that, this sin atoned for, his inno- 
cence would some day be established and he would 
be set free. At the same time, although he did not 
despair, he suffered acutely, and passed the days, 
hours, minutes in a state of nervous expectation of 
some change that never came, and a prey to a de- 
vouring homesickness. Thus day by day, hour by 
hour, moment by moment, he lived in his thoughts 
close to Giovanna and the child, recalling with mi- 
nute precision every little unimportant detail of the 
cottage life, his past existence, and the happiness 
that had once been his. In addition, moreover, to 
his own misery, he suffered at the thought of what 
Giovanna was enduring : now and again an access of 
passionate tenderness, having her far more than the 
child for its object, would seize him and arouse him 
from his usual state of pensive melancholy; then, 
leaping to his feet, he would stride back and forth, 
—two, or at most three, steps bringing him to the 
opposite wall, where he would presently stop, and, 
throwing himself against it, would beat his head as 
though trying to dash out his brains. These were 
his moments of utmost desperation. 

Hope always returned, however, and then he 
would begin to weave fantastic dreams of an immé- 
diate and romantic restoration to freedom, and the 
guard never entered his cell that his heart did not 


After the Divorce 81 


begin to beat violently, fancying that he was the 
bearer of some joyful tidings. 

Sometimes he played morra with himself, and he 
cared so much whether he lost or won that he would 
laugh aloud like a child. At other times he would 
sit for hours looking at his outstretched palm, imag- 
ining that it was a plain divided into tancas, with 
walls, rivers, trees, herds of cattle, and shepherds; 
and weaving stories about them all, full of exciting 
adventures. And sometimes he prayed, counting 
on his fingers, and repeating the lauds aloud, trying 
even to improvise new verses. In this way it came 
about that he actually did compose a laud of four 
strophes, dedicated to St. Costantino, in which the 
saint’s aid was particularly invoked in behalf of 
all prisoners wrongfully condemned. The refrain 


ran: 
‘‘ Saint Costantino, we implore thee 
For thy condemned innocent! ” 


The composing of this laud completely occupied 
him for many days, and made him, for the time 
being, almost happy. When it was finished he was 
wild with joy, but instantly an overpowering desire 
to tell some one about it seized him; whom was 
there, though, to tell? The guard was a little Nea- 
politan; bald, clean-shaven, with a flat, snub nose 
like that of a skeleton; he talked to him sometimes, 
but he was not sufficiently intelligent to understand 
the laud; then there were the other prisoners whom 
he saw during the exercise hour, but to them he was 


82 After the Divorce 


not allowed to speak; finally he bethought him of 
the chaplain, and asked to confess in order that he 
might have the opportunity to repeat the laud to 
him. The chaplain was a Northerner, a young man, 
tall and lean, with quick, nervous movements, and 
great flashing black eyes filled with intelligence. He 
listened patiently while Costantino repeated his laud, 
and then enquired if he did not think that, in asking 
to confess for the purpose of reciting it, he had been 
guilty of the sin of vanity. 

Costantino reddened and said “ No,’’ whereupon 
the confessor smiled indulgently, reassured him, 
praised his verses, and sent him off in a state of 
beatification. 

A few days later the prisoner again asked to 
confess. “‘ Well, have you written another laud?” 
asked the chaplain. 

“No,” said the other, looking down, “ but I want 
to ask a favour.” 

“What is it? Let us hear.” 

Costantino held his breath a moment, frightened 
at his own temerity; then he said quickly: “‘ Well, 
this is it: I want to send the laud home! ”’ 

* Ah!” said the chaplain, “I can’t do that; how 
could you write it, anyhow?” 

“Oh, I know how to write!” exclaimed the pris- 
oner, raising his clear eyes to the other’s face. 

“Yes; but the trouble is, my brother, that you are 
not allowed to write.” 

“ Oh, I can manage that!” 


_ After the Divorce 83 


“Well, well, but I can’t; I can’t do it.” 

Costantino looked extremely dejected and all but 
wept; then he confessed; asked whether it might 
not be better to dedicate the laud to SS. Peter and 
Paul, since they too had been in prison, and begged 
to be forgiven if he had presumed too much in mak- 
ing such a request. The young chaplain gave the ab- 
solution and prayed for some moments aloud, the 
prisoner, meanwhile, praying to himself ; then, laying 
one hand on the other’s head, the priest said in a 
low voice: “Listen; write out your laud if you 
can manage it, and—keep a brave heart.” 

A wave of joy swept over Costantino, and from 
that moment he had no other thought than of how 
he might contrive to transcribe his verses. “I have 
been a student,” he said one day to the guard. “ But 
I know how to make shoes as well. Would you 
like to have me make you a pair? Oh, I can fit — 
you!”’ | 

“You want something,’ said the man in Nea- 
politan. ‘“ But it’s no use, I will do nothing.” 

“ Now, Uncle Serafino, be kind! Remember 
your immortal soul!” 

“T remember my immortal soul well enough, and 
I’ve told you before that I’m not your uncle; you 
killed your uncle.” 

“ All right; it does not signify; only in our part 
of the country we always call all the important 
people ‘ uncle.’ ”’ 

Don Serafino, however, wanted his own title, 


84 After the Divorce 


which Costantino, for his part, could not bring him- 
self to employ, since in Sardinia it is used only in 
addressing people of noble birth; so for that day 
nothing was accomplished. 

On the following morning the prisoner returned 
to the charge: he recounted how he was of good 
family, had received an education, and fallen heir 
to a fortune; this, his uncle, he whom he had been 
accused of murdering, had spent, and had then shut 
him up in a dark little room, and forced him to 
make shoes; and once he had torn almost the entire 
skin off one of his feet. He even offered to show 
the foot, but Don Serafino declined with an expres- 
sion of horror, and cursed the dead man’s cruelty 
under his breath. 

The result was that Costantino presently found 
himself in possession of a sheet of paper, and by 
means of blood and a small stick, he succeeded in 
writing out the laud for condemned prisoners. Thus 
the winter wore away. 

One March day a visit of inspection was made to 
Costantino’s cell; it was under the direction of a 
big man, with two round, staring, pale-blue eyes, 
and so little chin that what he had was completely 
hidden by a heavy light moustache. 

“Hello! you there,” he cried to the prisoner. 
“What can you do?” Don Serafino was with the 
party, and as his eye fell upon him, Costantino sud- 
denly recalled the fancy sketch he had once given 
him. “I can make shoes,” he replied. 


After the Divorce 85 


“ Hello!” said the big man with the staring blue 
eyes. “ Youcan? Well, you murdered your uncle.” 

As the remark seemed to call for no reply, Cos- 
tantino merely moved his lips, as though to say: 
“Certainly, I murdered my uncle; may it please 
your mightiness! ”’ 

The party moved on, but before long Don Sera- 
fino returned and informed the prisoner that his 
term of solitary confinement had been shortened by 
more than a third, and that he would soon be re- 
leased from his cell. Costantino supposed that he 
owed this favour to his good behaviour, but Don 
Serafino explained that it was because he had inter- 
ceded for him with the authorities, telling them that 
the prisoner was of good family, that one of his feet 
had been flayed, and that he could make shoes. 

A few days after this Costantino was taken from 
the cell and set to work, in company with a number 
of others, at making shoes; he had, moreover, the 
privilege of writing once every three months to Gio- 
vanna. All of these concessions made him quite 
happy. Then the spring came, and the convicts, who 
had suffered intensely from cold, became gay and 
cheerful, keeping up a continual flow of chaff during 
working hours. Two brothers from the Abruzzi, 
however, who had asked as a special favour to be 
allowed to work together, quarrelled so incessantly 
over the division of a piece of property that was to 
be settled on their release—that is to say, in ten 
years’ time—that, after falling upon one another 


86 After the Divorce 


one day, they had to be separated and confined for 
two weeks in cells. Even then, the very first time 
they encountered each other during the exercise 
hour, they began fighting again. 

It was during this hour of comparative freedom, 
when the prisoners took their exercise in the court- 
yard, that Costantino made the acquaintance of a 
compatriot, another Sardinian. This man, who had 
received the nickname of the King of Spades, on 
account of his triangular-shaped face, his big body, 
and spindle legs, was white and puffy, and so closely 
shaven as to look quite bald; he was an ex-marshal 
of carbineers, convicted of peculation, and, accord- 
ing to his own account, was related to a Cardinal 
who was secretly in friendly relations with the King 
and Queen. This personage, he declared, might 
shortly be expected to procure his pardon, and not 
alone his but that of any among his friends whom 
he should recommend; those, for instance, who sup- 
plied him with cigars, money, or stamps. He had 
been assigned for duty in the clerk’s office, and thus 
had many opportunities to communicate with per- 
sons outside, to arrange clandestine correspondences 
between the prisoners and their families, and to 
smuggle in money, tobacco, stamps, and liquor; all 
greatly to his own profit and advantage. It was 
not long before he asked Costantino if he did not 
wish to send a letter home. 

“Yes,” replied the young: one, “but I am poor; 
I have nothing to give you.” 


After the Divorce 87 


“ Never mind,” said the other generously; “ that 
makes no difference, we are compatriots!” and 
forthwith he launched into an account of his ex- 
ploits as a marshal. He had, it appeared, killed 
ten or more bandits in the course of his career, and 
had received ten medals; once when he happened 
to be in Rome the King had invited him to his box 
at the theatre! He was, in short, a hero; but of 
his crowning exploit he never spoke, merely ob- | 
serving that he had been sent to prison through the 
machinations of powerful enemies. 

At first, in spite of his equivocal appearance, Cos- 
tantino believed it all, and felt deeply sympathetic; 
but gradually, as day by day the accounts of the 
marshal’s adventures grew more varied and mar- 
vellous, he became sceptical, and ended by placing 
as little faith in what he said as did the others, 
though they all pretended to be greatly impressed in 
order to obtain favours. 

Every member, indeed, of the little community, 
not excepting the guards, was both a liar and a 
hypocrite. The prisoners all tried to make out that 
they were something quite different from what they 
appeared to be, and each one had some remarkable 
explanation of how he happened to be there; while 
the very fact of their being compelled, quite against 
their will, to associate closely and intimately to- 
gether, destroyed every spark of mutual regard that 
might, under different circumstances, have sprung 
up among them. 


88 After the Divorce 


Costantino noted with surprise that those who 
were held for the more serious charges, while they 
were the greatest braggarts and boasters, seemed in 
other respects to be better than the rest. The minor 
delinquents were, almost without exception, cow- 
ardly, surly, and treacherous; fawning upon any one 
who could do them a service, and betraying their 
friends without hesitation, when the occasion arose. 

“There is hardly a man in this place,” remarked 
the King of Spades one day to Costantino, “ but 
what is utterly corrupt; most of them are hardened 
criminals, versed in every form of vice. Why, the 
very air we breathe is contaminated, and a man, 
suddenly deprived of his liberty and cut off from 
society, quickly goes to decay in such a place; he 
loses all moral sense, becomes deceitful, cowardly, 
and violent, and soon grows so depraved that he 
cannot even realise his own depravity.’ And he 
gave some startling instances in illustration of his 
point. “ It is my belief,” he continued, “ that among 
all who are here now, we two, the Duck-neck and 
the Delegate, are the only honest ones; all the others 
are criminals. Be very wary with them, Costan- 
tino, my dear fellow-countryman ; this place is noth- 
ing but a den of bandits, of a worse class even than 
those whom I put an end to!”’ 

Sometimes Costantino felt quite depressed, re- 
flecting that if his own honesty made no better im- 
pression than that of the King of Spades there was 
little to be proud of. 


After the Divorce — 89 


The Duck-neck was a Sicilian student, a con- 
sumptive with white hair, a long neck, and the 
body of a child. Though he spent most of his 
time reading, was timid and shrinking, and rarely 
spoke, he would occasionally fly into such violent 
rages that he was obliged to submit to the embraces 
of Ermelinda, as the prisoners called the strait- 
jacket. In one such paroxysm he had once killed 
a professor. 

The Delegate, who looked like a gentleman, was 
likewise a Southerner; he, it appeared, had been 
sent to prison out of pure envy! He had a swelling 
chest and a noble head; his nose was large and Gre- 
cian, and there was a cleft in the middle of his 
lower lip; his expression was haughty and repellent, 
but as soon as he was approached he became ex- 
tremely affable, even servile. Notwithstanding the 
“ powerful influence ” that was being exerted in his 
favour, certain lofty personages, a minister in par- 
ticular, were persecuting him unrelentingly. The 
student had lent him some scientific books, and he 
was now bent upon writing a great scientific work 
himself. Being also assigned to the clerk’s office, 
he was able secretly to devote a good deal of time 
to this splendid undertaking, of which the King of 
Spades gave glowing accounts. 

“ See here,”’ said he one day to Costantino; “ that 
man will make all our fortunes. We work every 
day on the book and have a set of phrases of our 
own, referring to it; but the utmost caution is nec- 


/ 
{ 


/ 


go After the Divorce 
CNG 


essary, otherwise—beware !—everything may be 
ruined, and it is a real scientific discovery. I will 
run over the main heads for you. How the atmos- 
phere was formed—that is, the air. How the ocean 
was formed—that is, all bodies of water. Origin 
of the organic world. A rational demonstration 
of the existence of a primordial continent in the 
central tract of the Pacific Ocean. Upon this conti- 
nent human life first made its appearance, passing 
the period of infancy in those tropical regions. Im- 
migration into Africa and Asia, The continent dis- 
appears by reason of a great cataclysm. Identifi- 
cation of this cataclysm with the flood of the Bible. 
The other continents emerge. Then—End of at- 
mosphere—End of oceans—End’ of the heavenly 
bodies—End of the earth!” 

“And end of imprisonment?” enquired Costan- 
tino with a smile. He had understood very little of 
the other’s discourse, only taking it for granted that, 
as usual, he was relating fiction. The King of Spades 
had to have a listener, however, so he continued 
tranquilly : “ Just wait a moment, the other chapters 
are: Amplification of the accepted doctrine of evolu- 
tion. Evolution of our species from the anthropo- 
morphic apes. Causes of the inclination of the axis 
of the planets,—but not Saturn. Reasons for this 
anomaly. Sun spots, etc. . 

“Oh, go to the devil! ” said Costantino to himself, 
yawning prodigiously. He was staring across the 
bare courtyard, with its fountain playing in the mid- 





After the Divorce gI 


dle. ‘“ And how about the magpie?” he presently 
asked, pointing to one that had domesticated itself 
in the establishment. The convicts gorged him with 
food, and he had become fat and somnolent. If by 
any chance he felt hungry, he called certain of 
them by name in a queer, shrill voice. 

“Oh, let him burst!” said the King of Spades 
fretfully. “ You are nothing but a child, Costan- 
tino; more interested in that silly bird than in a 
scientific work of the very first importance. Indi- 
rectly I can lay claim to the magnum part of the 
discovery, as it was I who brought the Delegate 
and the Duck-neck together. We have already suc- 
ceeded in despatching an abstract of the work, to- 
gether with a letter addressed to the King, to the 
Prime Minister. But remember—not a word of this 
to any one! One eminent scientist, on reading the 
abstract, exclaimed: ‘ This is the loftiest manifes- 
tation we have yet had of Italian genius!’ Take 
my word for it, Costantino, my dear compatriot, 
the Delegate has reached a dizzy height. He has 
some powerful friends who are now in Rome for 
the express purpose of working for his pardon; 
but then, he has powerful enemies as well! How- 
ever, he will be liberated before long on account 
of this book.” 

Costantino found all this extremely tiresome, but 
he pretended to listen, as he was hoping soon to 
get an answer to his letter to Giovanna, and wanted 
to keep in the other’s good graces. The answer did 


g2 After the Divorce 


arrive, sure enough, in May, and gave him the most 
intense happiness. Giovanna wrote that the boy had 
been unwell, possibly because the anguish she had 
endured had affected her milk; now, however, he 
was entirely well again. Isidoro Pane had received 
~ the lauds to San Costantino written in blood, and 
had wept when he read them, and now he sang them 
in church, the whole congregation accompanying 
him. No one knew who had written the verses, but 
Isidoro said an old man with a long, snowy beard, 
all dressed in white, had appeared one day on the 
river-bank, and had handed them to him. People 
said it was San Costantino, or perhaps Jesus Christ 
himself! And Giacobbe Dejas had hired himself 
out to his rich relatives. And the Nuoro lawyer 
had taken possession of the title to their house, al- . 
lowing the two women to live there for a small rent. 
The rich Dejases often had work for Aunt Bachissia, 
and for her, Giovanna, as well; so they managed to 
get along. Pietro Punia had been ill with carbun- 
cles, and had died. Annicca “ with the silver shoul- 
ders’ was married. An old shepherd had been ar- 
rested for stealing beehives. Thus the letter went 
on, entirely filled with such simple chronicles, which, 
to Costantino, however, were fraught with the most 
intense interest. As he read he seemed to breathe 
again his native air; each item set before him a 
picture of the rocks and bushes, the people and ob- 
jects, to which he was bound by the closest ties of 
habit and affection. Only, it disturbed him a little 


After the Divorce 93 


to learn that Giovanna sometimes worked at the 
Dejases’. He knew of Brontu’s passion for her, and 
that she had refused him, and as he read this part 
of the letter he experienced a first, vague sensation 
of alarm. Three francs were enclosed, and when 
he reflected that this money might probably have 
come from the Dejases, he hated to touch it. Two 
francs he offered to the King of Spades, rather 
expecting that his dear compatriot would refuse to 
take them. His dear compatriot, on the contrary, 
accepted them with alacrity, remarking that they 
would serve as part payment for the person who 
conducted the clandestine correspondence. 

Under other circumstances this would have an- 
gered Costantino, but just then he was so anxious 
to write again to Giovanna, to maintain some sort 
of intercourse with his little, far-off world, that he 
would have sacrificed the half of his life to secure 
the good offices of the King of Spades. 

He read and re-read his letter till he knew every 
word by heart. During the day he hid it in the 
sole of his shoe, ripping this open again each night. 
And always, as he sat silently bending over his 
work, his mind dwelt continuously on the people 
and events in that little, distant village, and he iden- 
tified himself so completely at times with the sub- 
jects of his thoughts that he lost sight of his real 
surroundings. He saw the old shepherd steal cau- 
tiously up to the hives, his face and hands wrapped 
in cloths. The spot is sunny, deserted ; all about lie 


94 After the Divorce 


green fields dotted over with flowers, dog-roses, 
honeysuckle, sweet-peas, undulating lines of colour 
stretching away in all directions as far as the eye 
can reach. The warm air is heavy with the odour 
of pennyroyal and other aromatic herbs, and the 
brooding silence is broken only by the low hum of 
the bees. 

Anxiously Costantino follows every movement 
of the old thief as he first detaches the little cork 
hives from the flat stones on which they stand; 
then, tying them all together with a stout cord, 
places them in a bag, and makes off. Just at this 
point Costantino could not quite make up his mind 
as to the next act in the drama, and as he was 
considering, a shrill voice broke in on his reflec- 
tions: “ Cos-tan-ti! Cos-tan-ti!’’ and arousing him- 
self with an effort he saw the magpie, fat and sleek, 
hopping lazily about in the courtyard, and stretch- 
ing its blue wings in the sun. 

At night, with the precious letter safely deposited 
beneath his pillow, he would resume the thread of 
his thoughts. Now it was the sonorous voice of his 
friend the fisherman that he would hear, singing the 
lauds, and sometimes he almost wondered if Isidoro 
had not in truth seen—on the river-bank, among the 
oleander bushes bending over with their weight of 
fragrant pink blossoms—the figure of an old man 
dressed in white, with a long beard as snowy as 
the wool of a little newborn lamb! Ah, surely it 
was the Saint himself, good San Costantino, come 


After the Divorce 95 


to tell Isidoro that he had not forgotten the pris- 
oners unjustly condemned! 

Costantino readily accepted this picture of the 
Saint, although the statue of him in the village 
church represented a robust and swarthy warrior. 

“ Good old Saint! Good San Costantino! Soon, 
soon thou wilt free us all, blessed forever be thy 
name! ” 

Then the scene changes. Now it is the portico of 
the rich Dejas’s house; every one is busy with the 
spun wool, dividing it into long skeins preparatory 
to weaving it. Giovanna comes and goes, carrying 
huge bunches in her hands. Brontu is there too, 
seated on the threshold of the kitchen door, with his 
legs well apart, and between them, laughing and 
unsteady, stands the little Malthineddu. Ah, intol- 
erable thought! Presently, however, remembering 
that Brontu is never at home except on holidays, 
he is somewhat comforted, and then he falls asleep, 
his heart steeped in a mingled sensation of joy and 
pain. 


CHAPTER VII 


UMMER had come again. 

“How quickly the time passes,” said Aunt 
Martina, as she sat spinning on the portico. “It 
seems only yesterday, Giacobbe, that you took ser- 
vice with us, and yet, here you are back again to 
renew the contract! Ah, the time does indeed pass 
quickly for us poor employers! You have saved 
thirty silver scudi at the very least, and have begun 
to build a house of your own, but what have we to 
show for it?”’ 

“ That’s all very well, but how about the sweat 
of my brow, little spring bird? The sweat of my 
brow, doesn’t that count for anything?” replied the 
herdsman, who was busily greasing a leather cord 
with tallow. 

“ But there’s your keep,” rejoined the old woman. 
“Ah, you have forgotten to allow for that!” 

May the crows pick your bones! thought Gia- 
cobbe, who would have liked to say it aloud, but 
was afraid to. He thoroughly detested both his em- 
ployers, the miserly old woman and the weak, hot- 
headed son, who tormented him continually with 
his project of marrying Giovanna if she would get 
a divorce. It was important, though, for him to 

96 


After the Divorce 97 


renew the contract, so he held his tongue. He 
greased the thong thoroughly, rolled it up, and took 
it into the house; then he asked permission to go 
off to attend to a piece of business of his own, and 
having received a grudging assent, departed. 

Walking in the direction of the Era cottage, the 
herdsman presently descried little Malthineddu be- 
striding, with very unsteady seat, a spirited stick 
horse, the sun gilding his dirty little white frock, 
his stout legs and bare arms. 

Stooping down with outstretched arms, Giacobbe 
barred the way. ‘“‘ Where are we off to?”’ he asked 
caressingly. ‘‘ There’s the sun, don’t you see it? 
Ahi! ahi! Maria Pettina* will come with her fire- ; 
comb and snatch you up, and carry you off to the 
hobgoblins! Run back quickly to the house.” 

“ No-o-o0, no-o-o0-o0,” shouted the child, jumping 
up and down on his steed. 

“Well, then,” said Giacobbe, lowering his voice 
and closing one eye as he pointed to the white house, 
“ Aunt Martina is up there, and to save bread she 
eats little children; don’t you see her? ”’ 

The boy seemed to be impressed, and allowed him- 
self to be led back to the cottage, still insisting, 
however, upon riding his stick. 

Giovanna was sewing at the door, as round and 
fresh and rosy as though no misfortune had ever 
befallen her. Above her pretty face the mass of 


* A summer goblin, invoked in Sardinia to frighten children 
out of the sun. 


98 After the Divorce 


wavy hair lay in thick, glossy coils. Seeing Gia- 
cobbe approach with the child, she raised her head 
and smiled. 

“Here he is,” said the herdsman. ‘I am bring- 
ing him safely back to you; but I found him play- 
ing in the sun, and travelling straight towards Aunt 
Martina, who eats children so as to save bread.” 

“Oh, go away!” said Giovanna. “ You ought 
not to tell children such things! ” 

“TI tell them to grown people as well, for Aunt 
Martina eats them too. Look out, Giovanna Era, 
the first thing you know she will eat you, and all 
the more because you are like a ripe quince—no, 
not that either, quinces are yellow, aren’t they? 
You are more like a—a * 

“An Indian fig!” she suggested, laughing. 

“And how is Aunt Bachissia? Is it long since 
you heard from Costantino?” 

At this Giovanna became suddenly grave, replying 
with an air of mystery that they had had news of 
the prisoner only a short time before. 

“ Ah!” said the man, without pressing the matter 
further. “Can you tell me if Isidoro Pane is any- 
where about? I want to see him.” 

“Yes,” she replied sadly, taking up her work 
again. ‘ He is at home.” 

Giacobbe said good-bye, and walked thoughtfully 
away in the direction of Isidoro’s house,—if house it 
could be called,—which stood at the other end of 
the village. 





After the Divorce 99 


The fisherman, in justice to whom it should be 
said that he fished for trout and eels as well as 
leeches whenever he had the opportunity, was seated 
in the shadow of his hut, mending a net. This 
hut, which stood in the fields, a little apart from 
the rest of the village, was a prehistoric structure 
composed of rough pieces of slate dating possibly 
from the time when men, not yet having mastered 
the art of cutting stones for themselves, used such 
pieces as had already been detached by nature. It 
was roofed over with sticks and bits of tile, above 
which flourished a vigorous growth of vegetation. 

The sun was sinking after a day of intense heat. 
Not a leaf stirred in the row of dusty trees along 
the scorched, deserted village street. Far off, the 
yellow uplands, furrowed by long, slanting shadows, 
were immersed in floods of crimson light; and be- 
yond them rose the rugged line of purplish moun- 
tains—a row of huge red sphinxes covered with a 
veil of violet gauze. The all-pervading stillness was 
pierced by the distant note of a blackbird. Wild 
figs with coarse, dark foliage, and a hedge of wild 
robinia, among whose branches hairy nettles and the 
whitish-leaved henbane had wound and interlaced 
themselves, surrounded the hut; and from the door- 
way could be seen a wide expanse of country, lonely 
and vapourous as the sea. The atmosphere was 
filled with the acrid odour of stubble and dried as- 
phodel, and the ground was so thickly covered with 
dead leaves, and twigs, and bits of straw that Gia- 


100 After the Divorce 


cobbe had got quite close to the old fisherman before 
the latter perceived him. 

“What are we about now?’ ”’ cried the herdsman 
gaily. 

The other raised his eyes without lifting his head, 
and, regarding his visitor curiously for a moment, 
made no reply. 

Dropping cross-legged on the ground, Giacobbe 
watched him as he mended the net with waxed twine 
threaded in a huge, rusty needle. 

“ Well, really!” said the herdsman presently, 
with a laugh. ‘ I should think the little fishes would 
find no difficulty in coming and going at their pleas- 
ure!”’ 

“Then let them come and go at their pleasure, 
little spring bird,’ said the fisherman, mimicking 
Giacobbe’s favourite mode of address. “ What are 
you doing here? Have you left your place?” 

““No; on the contrary, I have just made a new 
contract with those black-beetles of rich relations. 
But I want to speak to you about something serious, 
Uncle ’Sidore. First, though, tell me how your 
legs are? And is it long since you last saw San 
Costantino on the river-bank? ”’ 

The old man frowned; he disliked to hear sacred 
things alluded to with irreverence. “ If that is what 
you came for,” said he, “ you can take yourself off 
at once.” 

“Oh, well, there is no need to get angry! Here, 
I'll tell you what I came for; it really is important. 


After the Divorce 33°30). 907) 


But, as for irreverence—if you find me turning into 
a heathen you must blame the little master, he is 
always pitching into the saints. He gets terribly 
frightened, though, whenever he thinks he is going 
to die. Just listen to this: the other night we saw 
a shooting star; it fell plumb down from the sky, 
like a streak of melted gold, and lookéd as though 
it had struck the earth. Brontu threw himself down 
full-length on the ground, yelling: ‘If this is the 
last day, have mercy on us, good Lord!’ And 
there he stayed until, I swear, I wanted to kick 
him!” 

“And you were not frightened ? fe 

“TIT? No, indeed, Hitle spring bird; I saw the star 
disappear right away.” 

“But the very first moment that you saw it, 
tell the truth now, you were scared then, weren’t 
your” 

“Oh, well, go to the devil! Perhaps I was. But 
see here, what I came for was to talk to you about 
him—the master. If he is not crazy, then no one 
is in the whole world. He wants you to go to 
Giovanna Era and to suggest to her to get a divorce 
and marry him!” 

Isidoro dropped his work, a mist rose before his 
calm, honest eyes: he clasped his hands, resting his 
chin on them, and began shaking his head. 

“ And how about you?” he asked in a stern voice. 
* Are you not just as crazy to dare to come to me 
with such a proposition? Oh, yes! I understand, 


digas ©: ' ‘After*the Divorce 


you are afraid of losing your place! What a poor 
creature you are!” 

“Ho, ho!” cried the other banteringly. “So 
that’s your idea, is it? You and your leeches!” 

“Oh! you mean to be funny, do you? Well, it 
is time this was put a stop to! Tell your master 
that he has got to bring this business to an end. 
The whole neighbourhood has heard about it, and 
people are talking.”’ 

“My dear friend, we have only just begun! And 
here are you talking of ending it! I have had 
enough of it, I assure you, for morn, noon, and 
night, that brandy-bottle does nothing but talk to 
me about it! I had to promise him at last that 
I would see you, so here J am! But I can tell you 
not to talk on his side! There is only one person, 
Uncle Isidoro, who can really put a stop to this 
scandalous business, and that is Giovanna herself. 
You must go to her, and tell her to make that beast 
shut up. I can do nothing more.” 

Isidoro gazed at him with wide, unseeing eyes; 
he appeared not to be listening. Presently he re- 
sumed his work, murmuring: “ Poor Costantino! 
poor lamb! What have they done to you?” 

“Yes, indeed, he is innocent,” said Giacobbe. 
“ And any day at all he may come back! This craze 
of Brontu’s has got to be stopped. Then there is 
Aunt Bachissia as well, hovering over her like a 
vulture over its prey!” 

“ Poor Costantino! poor lamb! What have they 


After the Divorce 103 


done to you?” repeated Isidoro, paying not the 
smallest heed to anything that Giacobbe said. The 
latter became annoyed. Raising his voice until it 
echoed through the surrounding silence and soli- 
tude, he shouted: “ What have they done to him? 
What are they going to do to him? Why don’t 
you listen to what I am telling you, you old rag- 
heap? You must go and talk to her, right away! 
There she is, cheerful and rosy, and ready to fall 
at the first touch, like a ripe apple! At heart, 
though, she is not bad, and if you will predispose 
her against it—make her see what she ought to do 
—the whole thing may be prevented. Get up! get 
along! move! do something! Here is your chance 
to perform miracles, if you really are a saint, as the 
sinners seem to think!” 

“Ah! ah! ah!” sighed the old man, rising to 
his feet. His tall figure, majestic even in its rags, 
stood out in the crimson light, against the back- 
ground of dark hedge and distant, misty horizon, 
like that of some venerable hermit. “I will go,” 
he said, sighing heavily. And at the words Gia- 
cobbe felt as though a great weight had been rolled 
from his breast. 

From then on, the two men worked, steadily to- 
gether in the interest of the far-away prisoner, 
finding themselves opposed, however, by three active 
and united forces, as well as by the passive resistance 
of Giovanna. The three forces against which they 
had to contend were: the brute passion of Brontu, 


104 After the Divorce 


the grasping greed of Aunt Bachissia, and Aunt 
Martina’s self-interest, she being now wholly in fa- 
vour of Brontu’s scheme. Giovanna, she argued, 
was, though poor, both healthy and frugal, and she 
knew how to work like a beast of burden. A woman 
in good standing coming into the house as a bride, 
might entail all manner of extravagance and out- 
lay, and the wedding alone would be sure to mean 
a heavy expense. Whereas, in the case of Gio- 
vanna, the marriage would be conducted almost 
in secret, and she would steal into the house like a 
slave! Shrewd Aunt Martina! — 

Thus the months rolled over the little slate-stone 
village, the desolate mountains, the yellow stretch 
of uplands. Autumn came—soft, melancholy days, 
when the sea lay beneath a veil of mist on the hori- 
zon, and dark clouds, like huge crabs, travelled 
slowly across the pale sky, trailing long lines of 
vapour behind them. Sometimes, though, it would 
turn cold, and the atmosphere would be like a spring 
of limpid water, fresh, clear, and sparkling. 

On such an evening as this, when a long, violet- 
coloured cloud hung in the eastern heavens like an 
island in a crystal sea, and the scent of burning 
thyme came from the fields which the peasants were 
making ready for sowing, Brontu would swallow 
great gulps of brandy to take off the evening chill, 
and then, throwing himself down in the back of 
the hut, would lie dreaming, as warm and happy 
as a cat, his eyes fixed on the violet-coloured cloud 


After the Divorce 105 


on the distant horizon. All about the cabin, in 
every direction, as far as the eye could reach, 
stretched the broad tancas of the Dejases, billowy 
undulations, losing themselves in the fading day- 
light. Here and there amid the golden-brown stub- 
ble were dark squares of newly-turned earth, 
swollen by the rain, and patches of fresh grass and 
purple, autumnal flowers sending out a damp per- 
fume. Clouds of wild birds, and large crows as 
black and shining as polished metal, poured out of 
the clumps of assenzio, which, half-hidden among 
the wild roses and the clustering arbute with its 
shining leaves and yellow berries, looked like tumuli 
of ashes. 

In one of the tancas two peasants, farm hands of 
the Dejases, were burning brush preparatory to 
ploughing for the wheat and barley crops. The 
flames crackled as the wind blew them hither and 
thither, pale yet, in the evening light, and trans- 
parent as yellow glass, the smoke hanging over them 
in low, light clouds, like fragrant incense, then melt- 
ing away. Along the tops of the hedges enclosing 
the sheepfolds, each bare, thorny twig seemed to 
stand out separately in the crystal atmosphere, like 
a tracery of amethyst-coloured lace. The animals 
had all been herded for the night, except a few 
horses which could be seen here and there, with 
noses to the ground, cropping the short grass. 

From without the hut came the sound of Gia- 
cobbe’s voice, then the faint tinkle of a cowbell; the 


106 After the Divorce 


prolonged, far-away howl of a dog; the harsh 
screaming of a crow. 

Within, extended like a Bedouin ona pile of skins 
and warm coverings, Brontu dreamed his one, un- — 
varying dream, while the fiery liquor, coursing 
through his veins, filled him with a delicious sense 
of warmth and comfort. 

Ah, how the young proprietor did love brandy! 
Not so much for its penetrating odour and sharp, 
biting taste, as for that glowing sensation of happi- 
ness that stole over his heart after drinking it. But 
woe betide any one who meddled with him at such 
times! Instantly his mood would change, and the 
sweetness turn to gall. It seemed to him that dogs 
must feel just as he did then, when some one tram- 
ples on their tails as they lie asleep. He would 
arouse in a state of fury, and lose the thread of 
his dream. 

Yes, he loved brandy; wine was good too, but 
not so good as brandy. His father before him had 
liked ardent spirits; so much so, in fact, that one 
day, after drinking heavily, he fell into the fire and 
was so badly burned that—Heaven preserve us!— 
he died of the effects! But there! enough of such 
melancholy thoughts! Nowadays people are more 
careful, they don’t allow themselves to tumble into 
the fire! Moreover, to balance the passion for 
brandy, Brontu had his other passion, for Giovanna. 
Ah, brandy and Giovanna! The two most beautiful, 
ardent, intoxicating things in the whole world! But 


After the Divorce 107 


where Giovanna was concerned Brontu was as timid 
and fearful as he was reckless in the matter of 
brandy. He trembled merely at the thought of ap- 
proaching her—of speaking to her. On those days 
when he knew that she was working for his mother 
he fairly yearned to go home, to gaze at her, to 
see her working there in his own house, and yet 
> he dared not stir from the tanca! Now, though, 
as time went on, he was growing weary of waiting; 
a devouring anxiety, moreover, had seized upon 
him. What if, by hesitating so long, he were to 
meet with another refusal! Tormented by this 
thought, he longed to tell her of his solicitude for 
her ; how, in order to console her for all that had oc- 
curred, he would gladly have married her at once, 
immediately after Costantino’s sentence! His ideas 
differed from those of most people, but he was made 
that way and could not change. At bottom, like 
most drunkards, he had not a bad heart, nor was 
he immoral: his one passion, apart from drink, had 
always been for Giovanna, ever since when, as 
a boy, he had come with his family to live in the 
house on the hill. She was only fifteen then, and 
very fresh and beautiful. Every time he looked at 
her, even in those days, he had flushed even to his 
hands, and though she had noticed it, she had not 
seemed to mind. He never said anything, though, 
and so at last, when one day he screwed up his 
courage to the point of persuading his mother to 
go to Aunt Bachissia with an offer of marriage, 


108 After the Divorce 


it was too late, the position had been filled! Gio- 
vanna, at that time, had been as spirited and pas- 
sionate as a young colt, and as utterly indifferent 
to worldly considerations. She might have mar- 
ried Brontu Dejas at first for his beautiful teeth, 
but having once fallen in love with Costantino, she 
would not have thrown him over for the Viceroy 
himself, had Sardinia still possessed one. 

The twilight deepened; the sky grew more and 
more crystalline, like a vast mirror; the little, violet 
cloud grew leaden and opaque, then long and scaly, 
like some monster fish; the sounds from without, 
rising clearer than ever in the intense stillness of the 
hour and place, it seemed to Brontu that he must 
be dreaming when the voice of Aunt Bachissia sud- 
denly broke in upon his revery. 

“Santu Juanne Battista meu!” exclaimed the 
harsh, melancholy voice. “If I am not mistaken, 
that is Giacobbe Dejas? ” 

“At your service,” replied the herdsman, in a 
tone of amazement. “ But what wind blows you 
to these parts, little spring bird? ”’ 

“Ah, I am here at last! Where is Brontu De- 
jas?” 

Brontu rushed out of the hut, his knees shaking 
and his brain in such a whirl that he could hardly 
discern Aunt Bachissia’s black-robed figure as she 
stood holding her shoes in one hand, and balancing 
a bundle on her head. 

* Aunt Bachissia!” he cried, in great agitation. 


After the Divorce 109 


“Here I am! Good-evening! Come here, come 
right in here!” 

The woman flew towards him, closely followed 
by the herdsman. “ Ah, Brontu, my dear boy! If 
I am not dead to-night, it must mean that J never 
shall be! Three hours I have been walking! I lost 
my way. I must see you about something, but be 
patient for a moment.” 

Patient! With his whole being in such a state 
of turmoil that he could hardly keep back the tears! 
Taking her by the hand he led her inside the hut, 
while Giacobbe, seeing that he was to have no part 
in the interview, went around to the back and lis- 
tened with all his ears, raging meanwhile, inwardly, 
like a wild bull. Not a word, however, reached him. 
The conference was extremely short, Aunt Bachissia 
refusing even to sit down. She said that she had 
lost her way looking for Brontu’s sheepfolds, and 
that Giovanna would be getting very anxious, as 
she thought she had merely gone into the fields to 
look for greens. Yes, it was quite true, they had to 
depend largely upon greens for their food, so bitter 
was their poverty: and what had brought her now 
was nothing less than to ask Brontu for some 
money. Oh, a loan! yes, thank Heaven, only a loan! 
If they should not be able to repay it, then she and 
Giovanna would work it off. For months they had 
not paid any rent—rent—! for their own house—! 
Now, the lawyer was threatening to evict them. 
“And where would we go, Brontu Dejas?” con- 


110 After the Divorce 


cluded Aunt Bachissia, clasping her gnarled and 
yellow hands. “Tell me where we would go, 
Brontu, my soul!” 

His breast heaved; he wanted to seize the old 
woman in his arms, and shout: “ Why, to my house; 
that is where you would go!” But he did not dare. 

As there was no money at the hut Brontu decided 
to go home for it at once; he wished, anyhow, to 
return with Aunt Bachissia. Going outside, he 
called to Giacobbe to saddle the horse immediately. 
“‘ What has happened?”’ asked the man. “Is your 
mother dead? God rest her soul!” 

“No,” replied Brontu cheerfully. “‘ Nothing has 
happened that in any way concerns you.”’ 

Giacobbe began saddling the horse, but he was 
consumed with curiosity to know why Aunt Bachis- 
sia had come, and why Brontu was going back with 
her. She has come to borrow some money, he re- 
flected, and he has none; he is going home to get 
it for her. ‘ Listen, Brontu!”’ he called, and when 
the other had come quite close, he said: “If she 
wants money, and you haven’t got any here, I can 
let you have some.” 

“Yes, she does; she wants to borrow some 
money,” said Brontu in a low tone, quivering with 
delight and excitement. ‘But I am going back 
with her to get it, whether you have it here or not; 
that makes no difference; I am going to see Gio- 
vanna this very evening, at her own house; I am 
going to talk to her and do for myself what not one 


After the Divorce 111 


of all you donkeys has had sense enough to do for 
me!”’ 

“Man!” cried Giacobbe angrily, “ you must be 
going mad!”’ 

“ All right; let me go mad. See here, draw the 
girth tighter. Ah! swelling out your sides, are 
you?” he added, addressing the horse. ‘“‘ You don’t 
fancy night excursions? What will you say when 
the old woman is mounted on the crupper? ”’ 

“She too?” exclaimed Giacobbe. 

“ She too, yes ; what business is it of yours? Isn’t’ 
she my mother-in-law?” 

“You go too fast, upon my word! Look out, or 
you will have a fall and break your neck, little spring 
bird. Ah! you are really in earnest? You really 
mean to marry that beggar, that married woman, 
when you might have a flower for your wife? Well, 
I can tell you one thing, Costantino Ledda is inno- 
cent; some day he will come back, remember that; 
some day he will come back!” 

“Let me alone, Giacobbe Dejas, and attend to 
your own affairs. There, put a bag on the crupper. 
Aunt Bachissia!”’ he called to the old woman. 

Giacobbe ran quickly into the hut, and fell over 
Aunt Bachissia, who was just coming out. 

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” he said, 
trembling. “ You are worse than any beggar! Oh, 
I’m going to talk to Giovanna! I am going to talk 
to her myself!” 

“ You are a fool,” said the woman; then, lowering 


112 After the Divorce 


her voice, she called him by an outrageous name, 
and passed out. 

A few moments later the two set forth. 

Giacobbe watched them as they slowly moved 
away in the fading light, across the solitary tanca: 
further and further, along the winding path, beyond 
the thickets, beyond the clumps of bushes, beyond 
the smoke of the brushwood fires; until, at last, 
they were lost to sight. Then an access of blind 
fury seized him; clutching the cap from his head, 
he flung it from him as far as he could; then 
picked it up again, and fell to beating the dog. The 
poor beast set up a prolonged how! that filled the 
silent waste, and was echoed back again with a 
sound like the despairing cry of some wandering 
phantom. 

Night fell. Giacobbe, throwing himself down on 
the paillasse which Brontu had quitted shortly be- 
fore, smelled an odour of brandy; he got up, found 
his master’s flask, and drank. Then he lay down 
again, and presently he too felt something bubble 
up in his breast, bathe his heart, scorch his eye- 
lids, mount gurgling to his brain. His anger melted 
suddenly away and was replaced by a feeling of 
melancholy. Through the open door he could see 
the bright red glow of the brush fires gradually 
overpowering the fading twilight ; as the two merged 
they formed a single hue of violet, indescribably 
melancholy in tone. Now and again the dog gave 
another long howl. Oh! what misery, what misery! 


After the Divorce 113 


Why had he, Giacobbe, beaten that poor dog? 
What had it done to him? Nothing. He was filled 
with remorse, the foolish, emotional remorse of the 
drunkard; yet, so irritating were the sounds that 
he had a strong impulse to rush out and beat the 
unfortunate beast again. 

All at once his mind recurred to Brontu and Aunt 
Bachissia, whom he had forgotten for the moment, 
and he began to tremble violently. What had hap- 
pened? Had Giovanna given in? Ah! what made 
that dog bark like that? It was like the shriek of 
a dead person,—the voice of Basile Ledda, who was 
murdered! ‘ Pooh, pooh, the dead cannot cry out. 
That is nothing but the howling of a dog.” He 
laughed softly, drowsily, to himself; his heavy eye- 
lids closed, shutting out the opaque, violet-coloured 
mist that hung like a curtain before the open door; 
he felt as though a sack filled with some soft but 
heavy substance were pressing down upon him, so 
that he could not move; yet the sensation was agree- 
able. A thousand confused images chased one an- 
other through his brain. Among other things he 
dreamed that he was dead, and that his soul had 
entered into the body of a dog, a gaunt, little yellow 
cur, who was running around and around Aunt Ba- 
chissia’s kitchen searching for bones. Costantino 
was sitting by the fire; he was dressed in red, 
and there was a great chain lying at his feet; all 
at once he saw the dog, and flung the chain at it. 
The creature’s head was caught fast, encircled in 


114 After the Divorce 


one of the iron rings, and Giacobbe, stricken with 
terror, forced himself to cry out, in order to make 
them understand it was he. He awoke, perspiring 
and shouting: “ Little spring bird!” 

Night had fallen; the deserted tanca, stretching 
away beneath a clear sky sparkling with big, yellow 
stars, glowed with the red light of the brush fires. 

Giacobbe could not get to sleep again; he turned 
and twisted from one side to the other, but the in- 
toxicating effects of the brandy had passed, leaving 
his mouth dry and feverish. He got up and drank; 
then he remembered that he had taken nothing to 
eat that evening. For a long time he stood leaning 
against the door of the hut, his face lighted up by 
the glow of the fires. “ Shall I get something to 
eat or not?” he asked himself, hardly conscious that 
he did so. Then he looked up at the stars. Almost 
midnight. What had that little beast—his master— 
accomplished? he wondered, and his anger rose 
again, but chiefly against Aunt Bachissia. What 
impudence to come all the way to this distant spot 
just to further the little proprietor’s outrageous 
plans! For he knew perfectly well that the loan 
was merely an excuse of that old harpy to draw 
Brontu on, to bring him to a decision, to make him 
commit himself. Ah, what a low creature that 
woman was! Had she no conscience at all? Did 
she not believe in God? At this point Giacobbe 
grew thoughtful, and presently he threw himself 
down again, still debating whether or no he were 


After the Divorce 115 


hungry, and whether it were worth while to get 
something to eat. No, he decided; he was not hun- 
gry, nor thirsty, nor sleepy; nor could he rest; lying 
down, or sitting up, or standing. He yawned noisily 
and began talking aloud, mumbling foolish, discon- 
nected things, in a vain effort to distract his 
thoughts, which, however, continued to dwell per- 
sistently upon that thing. It was horrible, horrible! 
Marry a woman who had another husband already! 
And suppose Costantino should come back? Who 
knows? Everything is possible in this world. And 
even if he were never to return, there was the boy, 
how about him? What would he think when he 
grew up and found that his mother had two hus- 
bands? What a law that was! ‘“ Ha! the men who 
make the laws are pretty queer!’’ And Giacobbe 
laughed mirthlessly, for, down in the bottom of his 
heart, his inclination was to do anything else but 
laugh. 

Getting up, he seized the brandy-flask, saying to 
himself that if Brontu should display any curiosity 
as to who had drunk his brandy, why so much the 
worse for him. “I'll tell him it was the spirits! 
Ha, ha!” He laughed again, took a deep draught, 
and, throwing himself down, quickly fell into a 
heavy sleep, and dreamed that he was telling a sister 
of his all about his other dream of Costantino, and 
the yellow dog, and the chain. 

When he awoke the sun was already above the 
horizon, pushing through a bank of bluish cloud. 


116 After the Divorce 


The morning was cold, with light, drifting clouds, 
and the thickets, bushes, stubble, every spear of 
grass, sparkled with dew in the slanting rays of the 
sun. Once more the birds bustled in and out among 
the bushes, burst into song, rushed together in little 
groups, or poised gracefully in the misty air. Now 
and then the chorus of chirps and twitters would 
swell into something so acute and piercing that it 
was almost like the patter of metal raindrops: some- 
times a shrill whistle, or the strident note of a crow, 
would break into this silvery harmony; then all 
would die away, swallowed up in the vast silence of 
the uplands. 

Giacobbe came out of the hut yawning and stretch- 
ing. He yawned so violently that his jaws cracked, 
and his smooth-shaven face folded into innumerable 
tiny wrinkles about the round, open mouth; and his 
little, oblique eyes, yellow in the sunlight, watered 
like those of a dog. ‘ Well,” he thought, pressing 
both hands to his stomach, “I have cramps here. 
What did I do last evening? ”’ 

He threw open the folds; a ram with curved horns 
came out, snuffing the ground, closely followed by 
a yellowish bunch of sheep, all trying to tread in 
his tracks, and all likewise snuffng the ground; 
others came, and still others; the folds were empty; 
still Giacobbe stood close to the enclosure—motion- 
less—buried in thought. 

“Yes, last evening I had nothing to eat. I drank 
the little master’s brandy, and then I had dreams. 


After the Divorce ° 117 


Yes, yes, that was it—Costantino—and the dog— 
and my sister Anna-Rosa. Well, damn him! Why 
didn’t he come back, the little toad? I got drunk, 
just like a beast. Yes,’—he moralised, walking to- 
_wards the hut,—“ a drunken man is like a beast; he 
does not know what he is doing, and brays out 
everything in his mind. A dangerous thing that, 
Giacobbe Dejas, you bald-pate! Get that well into 
your head; it’s dangerous. No, no, I'll never get 
drunk again; may the Lord punish me if I do.” 

A little later the young master returned. Gia- 
cobbe, intent and smiling, watched him closely. 
“Ah!” said he, stepping forward solicitously, ‘‘ you 
look like a man who has had a whipping; what 
has happened?” 

“Nothing. Get away.” 

But nothing was further from the other’s inten- 
tion. He began to circle around his master, fawning 
upon him and making little bounds towards him 
like a dog, teasing persistently to be told what had 
occurred. At last Brontu, who really longed to 
unburden himself, yielded. 

Well then, yes; Giovanna had, in fact, driven him 
away like an importunate beggar. She had asked 
him if he had forgotten that she had a son who 
would one day spit at her, and demand to know 
how it was that she had two husbands. 

“My soul, I knew it!” cried Giacobbe, leaping 
in the air for joy. 

“What did you know?” 


118 After the Divorce 


“Why, that she had a son.” 

“Well, I knew that myself. She chased me out 
of the house; that’s the whole of it. I could hear 
the two—the mother and daughter—from the road, 
quarrelling furiously together.’ And then Brontu 
went to look for his brandy-flask. 

Giacobbe was so overjoyed that he could have 
laughed aloud for glee. 

“Look here!”’ he called. “‘ The spirits came last 
night and drank your brandy. Ha! ha! ha! but 
there must be some left; I am sure there is still some 
left.” 

Brontu drank eagerly without making any reply. 
Then he flung the flask angrily at the herdsman, 
who caught it in the air; and Brontu, having drunk | 
for sorrow, Giacobbe proceeded to drink for joy. 


CHAPTER Viti". 


NE morning, about three years after his con- 
viction, Costantino awoke in a bad humour. 

The heat was oppressive, and the air of the cell was 
heavy and sickening. One of the prisoners was 
snoring and puffing like a kettle letting off steam. 

Costantino had slept with Giovanna’s last letter 
beneath his head, and a sad little letter it was; short, 
and depressing in the extreme. She told of her 
and her mother’s dire poverty, and of the boy’s seri- 
ous illness. It never occurred to Costantino to re- 
flect how cruel it was to write to him in this strain; 
he wanted to know the truth about them, however 
bad it might be, and he felt that to share all Gio- 
vanna’s sorrows and to agonise over his inability to 
help her was a part of his duty. A barren duty,— 
alas !—merely an increase of his misery. 

He had become quite deft at his trade of shoe- 
making, and worked rapidly, but he could make very 
little money; all that was left, however, after the 
King of Spades had been paid for his supposed good 
offices he sent to Giovanna. 

“Upon my word,” said the ex-marshal, “ you 
are a goose. Spend it on yourself. They ought 
to be sending you money.” 

119 


120 After the Divorce 


“ But they are so poor.” 

“Poor! Not they; haven’t they got the sun? 
What more do they want?” said the other. “If 
you would only eat and drink more it would be a 
real charity. You are nothing but a stick, my dear 
fellow. Look at me! I’m getting fat. My bacon 
may be all rind, but, all the same, I’m getting fat.” 

He was, in fact, as round as a ball, but his flesh 
hung down in yellow, flabby rolls. Costantino, on 
the other hand, had fallen away, his eyes were big. 
and cavernous, and his hands transparent. 

The sun! he thought to himself bitterly. Yes, 
they have indeed got that; but what good is the sun 
even, when one has nothing to eat, and is suffering 
every kind of privation? He was, no doubt, a great 
simpleton, but as he thought of these things, he 
sometimes cried like a child. Yet all the time he 
never gave up hope. The years passed by; day fol- 
lowed day slowly, regularly, uneventfully, like drops 
of water in a grotto, dripping from stone to stone. 
Almost every convict in the prison, especially those 
whose terms were not very long, hoped for a remis- 
sion, and kept close count of the days already elapsed 
and of those yet to come. Their accuracy was 
amazing; they never made a mistake of so much as 
a single day. Some even carried their calculations 
so far as to count the hours. Costantino thought 
it all very foolish; one might die in the mean time, 
or regain his liberty! It was all in the hands of 
God. Yet, all the same, he too counted on being 


After the Divorce 121 


freed before the appointed hour; only in his case the 
appointed hour was so desperately, so hopelessly 
far away! 

This realisation was heavy upon him on that 
morning when he awoke and fingered the warm 
paper of Giovanna’s last letter. 

Getting up, he sighed heavily, and began to dress 
himself. The man on his right stopped snoring, 
opened one sleepy eye, regarded Costantino dully, 
then closed it again. ‘“ Feeling badly?” he asked, 
as Costantino sighed again. ‘Oh, yes! Your child 
is ill. Why don’t you tell the Director?” 

“Why should I tell the Director? He would 
clap me into a cell for receiving the letter, and that 
would be the whole of it.” 

“Except pane e pollastra”’ (bread and water), 
said an ironical voice. 

There was a general laugh, and Costantino, real- 
ising bitterly the utter indifference of all those men 
among whom he was destined to pass his days, felt 
as though he were wandering alone in a burning 
desert, gasping for air and water. 

He went to his work longing impatiently for the 
exercise hour, when he would be able to talk over 
his troubles with the King of Spades. The great, 
fat, yellow man whom he despised so in his heart, 
was, nevertheless, indispensable to him; his sole 
comfort, in fact. He alone in that place understood 
him, was sorry for him, and listened to him. He 
was paid for it all, to be sure, but what did that 


122 After the Divorce 


signify? He was necessary in the same way to a 
great many of the convicts, but to none, probably, 
as much as to Costantino, who already, with a some- 
what selfish regret, was dreading the time when, 
his term expired, the King of Spades would finally 
depart. 

On this particular day a new inmate made his 
appearance in the workroom. He was a North- 
erner; long and sinuous, with a grey, wrinkled face, 
and small, pale eyes. It was not easy to tell his 
age, but the men laughed when he announced him- 
self as twenty-two. He began at once to complain 
of the heat and of the sickening smell of fish that 
filled the room. Ah, he was no cobbler; no, indeed! 
He was the only son of a wealthy wholesale shoe- 
dealer,—a gentleman, in fact. And thereupon he 
recounted his unfortunate history. He had, it ap- 
peared, been so unlucky as to kill a rival in love; 
there had been provocation and he had ripped him 
open in the back,—simply that! The woman who 
was the real cause of the crime had consumption, 
and now she was dying from grief,—dying, simply 
that! Moreover, there was a child in the ques- 
tion, a son of the prisoner’s by the sick woman. If 
she died, the boy would be left orphaned and aban- 
doned. Costantino trembled at this; not, indeed, 
that the man’s story affected him particularly, but 
because the picture of the woman and the child re- 
minded him of Giovanna and the sick Malthineddu. 

The newcomer, who was cutting a pair of soles 


After the Divorce 123 


with considerable skill, now became silent, and bent 
over, intent upon his work, his under lip trembling 
like that of a child about to cry. Costantino, watch- 
ing him, reflected that though he knew that this 
man must be suffering intensely he felt as indifferent 
as did any of the others: he too, then, had lost the 
power of sympathising with the sorrows of others! 
The thought filled him with dismay and made him 
more insanely anxious to get out than ever. 

That day, as soon as-he saw the King of Spades, 
he drew him over to a corner where the sun-baked 
wall cast a little spot of shade; but when he had 
got him there he could not bring himself to begin 
on his own troubles. Instead he repeated the story 
told by the new arrival. The other shrugged his 
shoulders’ and spat against the wall. 

“Tf he wants to, even he can write,” he said. 
“ But I should advise prudence, some one is nosing 
about.” 

“How are we ever going to manage after you 
have gone?” said Costantino thoughtfully. 

“You would like to keep me here forever, you 
rascal?’ demanded the other in a rallying tone. 

“Heaven forbid! No, indeed; I only wish you 
might get out to-morrow!” 

The King of Spades sighed. His enemies, he 
declared, were forever devising new and diabol- 
ical schemes for keeping him out of the way; he 
had abandoned all hope now of a pardon. In any 
case, however, his term would expire before long; 


124 After the Divorce 


then he would go at once to the King, and lay a 
plain statement of the facts before him. The King 
would order an instant reversal of the verdict, and 
he himself, his innocence finally established, would 
be restored to his post. Who could tell, there might 
even be another medal conferred, to keep the rest 
company! But his first care would be to obtain 
pardons for all his friends, especially for Costan- 
tino. “‘ That would be a noble work,” he observed, 
self-approvingly. Indeed, by virtue of making such 
assurances frequently, he had come actually to be- 
lieve in them himself. | 

“To-morrow? Yes, indeed; a pardon might very 
possibly come to-morrow, and a good thing that 
would be for every one.” 

“Good, or bad,” said Costantino despondently. 

“ After all,” continued the other, “when I am 
gone it may be that you will no longer have any 
use for my services.” 

The moment the words were out of his mouth he 
regretted having spoken, but seeing that Costantino 
merely shook his head, evidently supposing that he 
alluded to a possible pardon, he regarded him com- 
passionately. 

“Are you really and truly innocent?” he asked. 
“By this time I should think you would be willing 
to talk to me quite openly. Do you remember that 
first time when I asked you? You said: ‘ May I 
never see my child again, if I am guilty.’ ” 

“Yes, so I did; and now, you mean to say, I 


After the Divorce | 125 


am perhaps not going to see him again? Well, 
God’s will be done; but I am innocent, all the same.” 

The King of Spades turned, and again spat upon 
the wall. “ Patience, old fellow, patience, patience,” 
he said; and there was a note of real warmth and 
feeling in his tone. He felt, in fact, quite proud of 
himself for recognising and esteeming honesty 
when he saw it in others, and it was this taste that 
drew him to Costantino. He saw with wonder that 
his fellow-countryman was so good, that his soul 
was so pure, and his whole nature formed of so 
fine a material, that even the boundless corruption 
of prison life could not sully him. 

Now it happened that the ex-marshal allowed 
himself—as one of the privileges of his position of 
go-between—to read the letters that passed through 
his hands. Not long before, an anonymous letter had 
come for Costantino, written in a villainous hand, 
with great sprawling characters that looked like in- 
sects crawling over the page. Venomous creatures 
they proved, indeed, to be, and capable of inflicting 
wounds as deadly as those of any living reptile. 
In short, the letter announced that Giovanna, wife 
of the prisoner, was permitting Brontu Dejas to pay 
court to her, and that Aunt Bachissia was about to 
go'to Nuoro to consult a lawyer about applying for 
a divorce for her daughter. 

On reading this precious communication the ex- 
marshal became furious; his friend, the Delegate, 
immersed as he was in his great scientific researches, 


126 After the Divorce 


heard him snorting, and puffing out his fat, yellow 
cheeks. “Idiots! Fools! Sardinian asses!’’ he 
sputtered. ‘‘ Why on earth tell him about it at all! 
What can he do, except batter out his brains against 
the wall? ” 

He did not deliver the letter, and every time he 
saw his friend he regarded him compassionately, 
feeling at the same time pleased at his own goodness 
of heart for caring so much. 

Three days later the boy died. Costantino was 
notified immediately of the event. He wept silently 
and by stealth, trying hard to bear up with forti- 
tude before his companions. When Arnolfo Bel- 
lini, the man whose mistress was dying, heard of the 
Sardinian’s misfortune, he fell into a fit of ner- 
vous weeping, emitting curious noises like an angry 
hen, his grey, old-young face doubling up in such 
grotesque contortions that one of the quarrelsome 
brothers from the Abruzzi burst out laughing; one 
of the others leaned across and punched him in the 
leg with an awl, whereupon the Abruzzese started, 
ceased laughing, and continued his work without 
protest. 

Costantino, after staring a moment at Bellini in | 
amazement, shook his head and turned to his bench. 
Silence reigned, and presently the man calmed down. 

The low room was filled with the hot, reflected 
glare from the courtyard, and the overpowering heat 
drew a sickening odour from the leather and the 
perspiring hands and feet of the convicts. There 


After the Divorce 127 


were thirteen of them under the surveillance of a 
tall, red-moustached guard, who never opened his 
lips. The uniformity of dress, the close-cropped 
heads and shaven faces, and the general vacuity of 
expression lent them all a certain mutual resem- 
blance; they might have been brothers, or at least 
nearly related to one another, and yet, never more 
than on that particular day, had Costantino felt 
himself so utterly apart, so wholly out of sympathy 
with his companions in misery. 

He stitched and stitched, bending over the shoe, 
which rested between his knees in the hollow of 
his leather apron. From time to time he would 
pause, examine his work attentively, then go on 
again drawing the thread through with both hands 
with a jerk that seemed almost angry. Yes, one 
must work, now that the boy was dead. Had he 
loved him very dearly? Well, he could hardly say; 
perhaps not so very much. He had only seen him 
once during that time at Nuoro, through the iron 
grating of the reception-room, held fast in the arms 
of his weeping mother. The baby, he remembered, 
had a little pink face, somewhat rough and scarred, 
like certain kinds of apricots when they are ripe. 
His round, violet-coloured eyes shone like a pair of 
grape seeds from beneath their long fringe of lashes. 
He had cried the whole time, terrified at the sight 
of the stern-faced, rigid guards; and grasping the 
iron bars convulsively with his little red hands. 

This was the only memory Costantino had pre- 


128 After the Divorce 


served of his son. Years had gone by since then; 
yet he always imagined him flushed, tearful, with 
little violet eyes shining out from beneath the dark 
lashes. But he often pictured the future, when Mal- 
thineddu, grown to be big and strong, would drive 
the wagon, and ride the horse, and sow, and reap, 
and be the comfort and support of his mother. The 
prisoner constantly hoped that some day or other 
he would be cleared, and able to return to his home, 
but when at times this hope seemed to be more than 
usually vain, then his thoughts would instantly re- 
vert to the boy, and how he would be able to take 
his place in a way; thus his feeling for him was 
more a part of his love for Giovanna than that more 
selfish affection which is the result, often, of habit 
and propinquity. 

Now the boy was dead, and the dream shattered ; 
the will of God be done. And Costantino, dwelling 
upon Giovanna’s grief, suffered himself, acutely. 

When the King of Spades, accordingly, met his 
friend that day in the shadow of the sun-baked wall, 
he at once perceived that the other’s grief was far 
more for his wife than for the loss of the child; 
nevertheless, his method of imparting comfort was 
to say banteringly: “ Why, my dear fellow, if, as 
you say, the Lord has taken the innocent little soul 
back to himself, why do you take it so much to 
heart? It must be for his own good!” 

“Why must it? ” said Costantino, his head droop- 
ing, and both arms hanging down with limp, open 


After the Divorce 129 


palms. ‘ Why must he be better off? Simply be- 
cause he was poor!” 

The King of Spades happened to be in a philoso- 
phising mood. He explained, therefore, that pov- 
erty was not always a misfortune; nothing of the 
sort; it might at times be looked upon as a blessing, 
even an unqualified one! 

“There are many worse things than poverty,” 
said he. “Reflect for a moment; your wife will 
become reconciled.” 

“Oh! of course; she has the sun,” said Costan- 
tino, clenching his hands. “ This burning sun, and 
just how is it going to help her?” 

“ Pff! pff! pff!” puffed the other, inflating his 
big, yellow cheeks. Then he grew thoughtful, and 
fell to examining the little finger of his right hand 
with minute attention. 

“ Suppose,”’ he said suddenly, ‘“‘ your wife were 
to marry again?” 

Costantino did not quite take in what he meant, 
but his arms stiffened instinctively. 

“JT hardly should have thought,” said he in a 
hurt tone, “that you would say such a thing as 
that.” 

“ Pff! pff! pff!” The ex-marshal swelled and 
puffed meditatively. Then, after a short pause, he 
began again: | | 

“ But listen, my dear fellow, you don’t under- 
stand. I don’t for a moment mean to say that your 
wife is not a perfectly honest woman; what I do 


b 


130 After the Divorce 


mean is—suppose she were actually to marry some 
one else? And still you don’t understand? Upon 
my. word, this Christian is extraordinarily slow at 
taking an idea! One would suppose you were free, 
you are so innocent. Perhaps, though,” he added, 
“you don’t know that people can get divorces now- 
adays. Any woman whose husband has been sen- 
tenced for more than ten years, can be divorced and 
marry some one else.” 

Costantino threw his head up for a moment, and 
his sunken eyes opened round and wide; then the 
lids dropped again. 

“Giovanna would never do it,” he said simply. 

There was another brief interval of silence. 

“Giovanna would not do it,” he repeated; yet, 
even as he pronounced the words, he had a strange 
sensation, as though a frozen steel were slashing 
his heart in twain; one part was convulsed with 
agony, while the other shrieked again and again: 
“She would never do it! she would never do it!” 
And neither part gave a single thought to the little, 
dead child. 

“She would not do it, she would not do it,” re- 
_ iterated one half of his heart with loud insistence, 
until, at last, the other was convinced, and they 
came together again, but only to find that both were 
now devoured by that torturing pain. 

“See here,” said the King of Spades, “I don’t 
believe she would either. But tell me one thing; 
now that the child is dead, and now that the mother 


After the Divorce 131 


has nothing more to hope for, from either him or 
you, would it not, after all, be the very best thing 
she could do, supposing she had the opportunity? 
For my own part, I think that if a chance came 
along for her to marry again, she would be very 
foolish not to take it.” 

“Brontu Dejas!” said Costantino to himself. 
But he only repeated: “ No, she would not do it.” 

“ But you are a Christian, my friend; if she were 
to do it, would she not be in the right?” 

“ But I am going back some day.” 

“ How is she to know that?” 

“Why, I have told her so all along, and I shall 
never cease telling her so.” 

The King of Spades had a strong inclination to 
laugh, but he restrained himself, feeling quite 
ashamed of the impulse. Presently he murmured, 
as though in answer to some inward question: “ It 
is all utter foolishness.” 

“Yes, of course,” said Costantino. But all the 
time, he was thinking of Brontu Dejas, of his house 
with the portico, of his tancas and his flocks; and 
then of Giovanna’s poverty. Alas! the knife was 
cutting deep into his heart now. 

That very night he wrote a long letter to Gio- 
vanna, comforting her, and assuring her of his un- 
shaken faith in the divine mercy. “It may be,” 
he wrote, in the simple goodness of his heart, “ that 
God wishes to prove us still further, and so has 
taken from us the offspring that we conceived in 


132 After the Divorce 


sin; may his will be done! But now, a presentiment 
tells me that the hour of my restoration to liberty 
is at hand.” He considered long whether or no 
to tell her of the dreadful thing hinted at by the 
ex-marshal, and thought himself quite shrewd and 
cunning when he decided it would be better to let 
her think that he did not so much as know of the 
existence of that infernal law. 

His letter despatched, he felt more tranquil. But 
a little worm had begun to gnaw and gnaw in his 
brain. The ex-marshal, moreover, from that day 
on, with a pity that was heartless in its operations, 
never ceased to instil the subtle poison into his veins. 
He must become accustomed to the idea, thought 
this diplomatist to himself, else the poor, simple 
soul will die of heartbreak. There were times, how- 
ever, when he thought that it might be better, after 
all, to let him die, and have done with it. Then, 
remembering all his promises about obtaining a 
pardon, he would pretend to himself that he was 
really going to do this, and continue: the torture 
so that his victim might survive the shock when 
news of the divorce actually came. He had no 
doubt that his friend’s wife was seriously con- 
templating the step, and it made him angry to hear 
Costantino speak affectionately of her. 

“My dear fellow,” said he one October day, puff- 
ing as usual, “you don’t know women. Empty 
jugs, that’s what they are; nothing but empty jugs! 
I was once engaged to be married myself. You 


After the Divorce 133 


can hardly believe it? Well, I can hardly believe 
it either. What then? Nothing, except that she 
betrayed me before I had even married her, and— 
that you irritate me beyond measure. Here is your 
wife in an altogether different situation; she is 
young and poor, and has blood in her veins—she 
has blood in her veins, I suppose, hasn’t she? Well, 
if this Dejas fellow wants her to marry him, I say 
she would be a great goose not to do it.” 

“ Dejas! Why—what—who told you?” stam- 
mered Costantino in amazement. 

“ Oh! didn’t you tell me yourself? ”’ 

Costantino thought he most certainly had not, 
but then his mind had been in such a confused state 
for some time back—but merciful God! Dear San 
Costantino! How had he ever come to do such 
a thing? What had made him utter that man’s 
name? 

“ Well, then,” he burst out; “ yes, I am afraid of 
him! He courted her before we were married; he 
wanted her himself. Ugh! he’s a drunkard, and 
as weak as mud. No, no; she could never do any- 
thing so horrible! For pity’s sake, let’s talk of 
something else.” 

So they did talk of something else, still in the 
Sardinian dialect, so as not to be understood by the 
other prisoners. They talked of the consumptive 
student, who was drawing visibly nearer to the door 
of the other world; of Arnolfo Bellini, who began 
to sob whenever his eye fell on the dying man; of 


134 After the Divorce 


the Delegate, whom they could see pacing back and 
forth by the fountain; of the magpie, who was 
growing feeble, and losing all his feathers, from old 
age. ! : 
Gossip, envy, hatred, identical interests, coward- 
ice, raillery, fear—such were the bonds which united 
or kept apart the different members of the little 
community—prisoners, guards, and officials alike. 
To Costantino they were all equally objects of in- 
difference; he, the Delegate, and the student seem- 
ing to live apart in a little world of their own, with 
the ex-marshal—the pivot about which every detail 
in the prisoners’ lives seemed to revolve; he, mean- 
while, appearing to be as superior as he was nec- 
essary to them all. 

Many envied the friendly intercourse existing be- 
tween Costantino and him, and frequently the former 
would be implored to use his influence with the King 
of Spades to procure some favour. He merely 
shrugged his shoulders on such occasions, though, 
when they offered him money, as sometimes hap- 
pened, he was sorely tempted to take it, so intense 
was his longing to be able to support Giovanna; 
he had no other idea. The King of Spades, with 
his eternal insinuations that cut like knives, was 
becoming more and more hateful to him. One day 
they actually quarrelled, and for some time did not 
speak to one another. But Costantino could not 
stand it; he felt as though he should suffocate, as 
though he had been shut up in a cell, and cut off 


After the Divorce 135 


from all communication with the outer world. He 
soon apologised and begged for a reconciliation. 

The autumn drew on; the air grew cool, and the 
sky became a delicate, velvety blue, distant, unreal, 
dreamlike. Sometimes the breeze would waft a 
perfume of ripening fruit into the prison enclosure. 

Costantino was less acutely miserable, but he 
had sunk into a state of settled melancholy; he grew 
thinner and thinner, and deprived himself continu- 
ally of things which he stood in need of in order 
to have more money to send to Giovanna. The 
other prisoners all received presents of some sort 
from their friends and relatives; he alone denied 
himself even the little pittance he was able to earn. 

“IT don’t understand it,” said the ex-marshal to 
him one day. “ Your complexion is pink and you 
look younger than you did when you came, and 
yet you are almost transparent.” 

Sometimes Costantino would flush violently, and 
the blood would rush to his head; then he would 
be utterly prostrated, and in his weakness he would 
suffer more from homesicknness than he had done 
even in the first year of his imprisonment. He 
would see before him the boundless sweep of the 
uplands, sleeping in the autumnal haze, glowing 
and yellow beneath the crystal sky; he would get 
the breath of the vineyards, the scent of such late- 
maturing fruits as flourish in that land of flocks and 
beehives; images would rise before him of the foxes 
and hares, the wild birds and cattle, the hedges thick 


136 After the Divorce 


with blackberries, all the hundred and one natural 
objects which had constituted the sole element of 
enjoyment in his otherwise miserable and barren 
childhood. Then his thoughts would turn to his 
uncle, the cruel old Vulture who, having tormented 
him in his lifetime, seemed able to torment him still. 
An impulse of bitter hatred would rise up in his 
heart, only to be repressed, on remembering that 
he was dead, and succeeded by a prayer for the 
murdered man’s soul. 

There was no one else whom he was even tempted 
to hate, no one at all; not even the real murderer, 
or Brontu Dejas—who, in fact, had as yet given 
him no cause for complaint—or the King of Spades, 
though he subjected him to this continual martyr- 
dom. Indeed, it hardly seemed as though he had 
sufficient strength effectually to hate any one. A 
feeling of gentle melancholy pervaded him, a sort 
of numbness like that of a person about to fall 
asleep ; his only sensation was one of tender, pitiful, 
passionless love; as tranquil, as mild and all-em- 
bracing as an autumnal sky, and having for its one 
object—Giovanna. She was a part of the love it- 
self, and waking or sleeping, he thought only of 
her, only of her, only of her. 

As time went on this love became more and more 
engrossing ; she came to represent the far-off home, 
family, liberty—life itself. All, all, was compre- 
hended in her: hope, faith, endurance, peace, the 
very love of life! She became his soul. 


After the Divorce 137 


When the inexorable King of Spades threatened 
him with that horrible thing, he did not know it, 
but it was the death of his soul that he was holding 
over him. For the certainty of not losing Gio- 
vanna, Costantino would gladly have agreed to pass 
forty years in prison; and, at the same time, he 
panted for his freedom precisely in oe that he 
might not lose her. 

During the winter that followed, he suffered in- 
tensely from cold; his face and nails were livid, and 
during the exercise hour, even when he stood in the 
sun, his teeth chattered like those of an old man. 
He asked often to confess, and confided all his 
troubles to the young chaplain. 

“Who puts such ideas as these into your head, 
my son?” asked the confessor, his dark eyes flash- 
ing. | 
“A fellow-countryman of mine, the ex-marshal 
—Burrai. The King of Spades they call him.” 

“‘ May God bless and protect you!” said the other, 
becoming thoughtful; he knew the King of Spades 
well. Then he administered what comfort he could, 
and asked what Giovanna had written herself, and 
when. 

Alas! she wrote but seldom now and never more 
than a few lines at a time. It seemed almost as 
if, after the child’s death, she had nothing to write 
about. In her last letter she had told him that the 
weather was bitterly cold; there had been two snow- 
storms, in one of which a man, while attempting 


138 After the Divorce 


to cross the mountains, had been frozen to death. 
And then she had added that they were having a 
famine. 

These accounts, of course, preyed upon Costan- 
tino’s mind. He would dream constantly that he 
had been taken to Nuoro and given his liberty; from 
thence he would set forth on foot for home; it was 
cold, bitterly cold; he couldygo no further—he was 
dying, dying—then he would wake up shivering, 
and with a heavy weight on his heart. 

“You are so weak, my brother,” said the con- 
fessor. “It is bodily weakness that makes you 
imagine all these things. Your wife is a good 
Christian ; she would never wrong you in the world. 
Come, put all such ideas out of your head. You 
should try to get back your strength; you must 
eat more, and drink something now and then. Are 
you earning anything? ”’ 

“A little; but I send it all to my wife, she 
is so terribly poor. Oh! I eat plenty, and I 
don’t like to take anything to drink; it gives me 
nausea.” 

“ Well, take heart. I will talk to Burrai; he shall 
not bother you any more.” 

He did, in fact, have an interview with the King of 
Spades, and took him severely to task for putting 
such wicked ideas into Ledda’s head. ‘‘ The poor 
fellow is far from strong as it is,” said he. “If 
you don’t let him alone, he will be ill.” 

Burrai regarded the priest calmly out of his 


After the Divorce 139 


shrewd little pig-eyes, then he gave a puff and shook 
his head. 

“TI only do it for his own good,” he said con- 
fidently. 

“‘ But what good, what possible good? You a 

“JT tell you, my dear fellow—I beg your pardon 
—but here it is, for the present—as long as the 
cold weather lasts—there is very little to be feared, 
so far as the young woman is concerned; that is, 
I fancy that now it is only the old one, Costan- 
tino’s mother-in-law, who is at work, advising and 
tormenting her daughter not to let her chance slip 
by. But when the spring comes—then you'll see; 
‘that’s all.” 

The chaplain’s face fell; he was disturbed and 
puzzled. The other, watching him out of his sharp, 
little eyes, concluded that the present would be a 
good time to explain himself more fully, and ac- 
cordingly began to enlarge upon the mother-in-law’s 
grasping disposition, the youth of her daughter, the 
dangers of the spring season, and so forth. The 
chaplain now became really angry. 

“ This is too much!” he exclaimed, as he strode 
up and down, striking the palms of his hands to- 
gether, and his eyes flashing. ‘“‘ How dare you 
imagine all this string of things that may possibly 
happen, and then repeat them to that poor creature 
as though they were actual occurrences? Because 
the young woman once had another suitor, you 
mean to say ey 








140 After the Divorce 


“My dear friend, there is no need to get so an- 
gry,’ said the other. “ Here, look at this,’’ and he 
showed him the anonymous letter. 

The chaplain saw at once that the matter was 
more serious than he had supposed; he read the 
letter, and then asked if Ledda paid him money. 

“Of course, a trifle now and then. Perhaps you 
think it wrong? Well, don’t I take the risk of 
being put in a cell in order to serve him? ” 

“‘ And you consider that you are doing right when 
you act in this manner? ”’ : 

“What is doing right? If it is helping your 
neighbour, then I most certainly think that I am.” 

The chaplain re-read the letter attentively. 

“Yes,” pursued the other. “I certainly am. 
And what is more, if, when I get out of here, they 
don’t reinstate me in my position, I intend to ar- 
range a system of correspondence for all the prisons 
in Italy. It will be a sort of agency Ks 

““T see, my friend, that it will not be long before 
we have you back again.” 

“Eh! eh! I shall know how to manage the thing; 
a secret agency, and & 

** Pardons too!” said the priest, folding the letter 
and returning it. ‘‘ How can you have the heart 
to fool those poor creatures so?” 

“Yes, pardons too,’ replied Burrai calmly. 
“Well, and suppose they are fooled; if it gives them 
any comfort to hope, is not that an act of kindness 
in itself? What is there for any of us, but hope?” 








After the Divorce 141 


“Well,” said the other more mildly, “ at least do 
me the favour to leave that poor fellow alone. Al- 
low him to enjoy the pleasures of hope, otherwise 
he will certainly fall ill.” 

The ex-marshal promised, though with bad grace. 
It seemed to him a poor method. 

“ He will die of heartstroke, I verily believe,” he 
said to himself. “ Wait till the spring; then we will 
see whether a man of the world knows what he is 
about or no.”” And he laid one hand on his breast. 

When they next met, Costantino asked with a 
smile if he had seen Su Preideru, as they called 
the chaplain between themselves, and what he had 
said to him. 

The ex-marshal was leaning against the damp and 
dingy wall, softly cursing some individual unknown, 
in the Sardinian dialect. 

“Balla chi trapasset sa busacca, brasciai!” (1 
wish a ball would hit him in the pouch, the he-wolf !) 
he murmured, as Costantino approached. ‘“ What 
is it? Who?” 

“Oh! nothing.” 

“You want to know if I have seen the priest? 
Yes, and he scolded me like a child. What a child 
it is! A little pig, really and truly, a little pig! 
But the lard is yellow and rancid. Do you know, 
I read somewhere that in Russia they think very 
highly of rancid lard?”’ 

“ But tell me what he said.” 

“What he said? Let me see, what did he say? 


142 After the Divorce 


I don’t remember; oh! yes, he told me that I had 
imagined all that—what we have been talking about. 
Yes, that was it, my dear fellow; I have, it seems, 
a vivid imagination, and your wife will never wrong 
you in the world! Never, as surely as we are 
standing here!” 

Costantino looked at him eagerly. No, the man 
was not chaffing; he was perfectly serious, and evi- 
dently meant what he said. 

“Ah, ha! he scolded you, did he? Good 
enough!” he cried. 

“This wall,” said the King of Spades, straight- 
ening himself, and regarding his hands, which were 
red and scarred from contact with the rough stones, 
“this wall looks as though it were made of choco- 
late; it is warm and damp. Ah! if it only were, 
there would be two advantages: we could eat it, 
and then escape! Have you ever eaten any choco- 
late? ”’ 

“Why, of course, and Giovanna too; she is very 
fond of it, but it is fearfully dear. Well, and what 
then?” 

“What then?” exclaimed the other impatiently. 
“ My dear fellow, you drive me crazy. Oh! she will 
wait for you twenty-three years—never fear!” 

“No, not that long; I shall be out of here long 
before that,” replied Costantino confidently. “ Then 
too,” he added with a gleam of humour, “ there is 
the pardon; you were to see the King, you know, 
about a pardon for me.” 


After the Divorce 143 


“Precisely,” said the other. “I was to see the 
King. You don’t believe me? I shall, however, 
go to him at once; he receives every official, and 
what am I if not an official? He is fond of the 
army; he is young; I hear he is getting fat. Ah! 
not as fat as I, though ’—and he laughed. 

From then on, whenever Costantino tried to 
bring the conversation around to the old subject, 
the other contrived to head him off; but at all events 
he was no longer tormented. 

One day about this time, Costantino was informed 
that five francs had been paid in to his account. 
“ He did it!” he exclaimed. “I am sure it was the 
priest. What a kind man he is! But I don’t need 
it; no, indeed, I don’t need the money at all.” 

“You stupid,” said the King of Spades. ‘“ Take 
it; if you don’t he will be offended. ‘I don’t want 
it!’ A pretty way that to acknowledge a present! ” 

“ But I should be ashamed to take it. And what 
could I do with it, anyhow? ” 

“ Why, eat, drink—you have need to, I can assure 
you. You would like to send it home, I suppose? 
The devil take you! If you do such an idiotic thing 
as that I will spit in your face! Why, see here, 
she doesn’t even write to you any more; she——’’ 

“ What is there for her to write about?” said 
Costantino, trying vainly to think of some excuse. 
“ Besides,” he added, “she will be working now, 
the winter is nearly over.” 

“Yes, it is nearly over, and then the spring will 


144 After the Divorce 


b 


come,” said the other in a tone that had almost a 
menace in it. “ It will come.” 

“Why, of course, it will come!” 

“When does the warm weather begin with you? 
We have it in March.” | 

“Oh, with us, not till June. But then it is so 
beautiful. The grass grows—oh! as tall as that, 
and they clip the sheep, and the bees are making 
honey! ”’ 

“An idyl, truly!’ You don’t know what an idyl 
is? Well, I'll tell you. It is—sometimes it is— 
infidelity. Wait till June. How long is it since 
you've been to confession? ” 

“Oh, I’ve not been for a fortnight.” 

“A long time, I declare! What a good Chris- 
tian you are, my friend. For my own part, I’ve 
never been at all. My conscience is as clear and 
unsullied as a mirror. Now there,” said he, point- 
ing to the pasty-faced student, whose hair was so 
white that it looked as though it had been pow- 
dered, “ there is one who had better confess without 
delay ; he is knocking now at the door of eternity.” 

Sure enough, only a few days later the student 
was removed to the infirmary, and at the end of 
March he died. 

Bellini, the man whose mistress was dying of the 
same disease, asked after him anxiously every day, 
and when he died cried for hours in a weak, child- 
ish fashion. It was not from any grief he felt at 
parting from the sick man, but at the thought of 


After the Divorce 145 


what might happen to his mistress. His grief sub- 
sided at length, and then, as he no longer had the 
reminder of the student before his eyes, he gradu- 
ally came to think less and less about his own sor- 
row. 

The death of the student had a totally different 
effect upon the King of Spades; he became quite 
melancholy, took to philosophising about life and 
death, and would engage in lengthy discussions with 
the Delegate, who rolled his eyes about and ex- 
pounded his views in a deep bass voice. 

When talking with Costantino, the ex-marshal 
was apt to drop into rather homesick reminiscences 
about the distant land of their birth. 

“Yes,” said he one day, ‘‘ I was once quite close 
to your home, or its neighbourhood. I can’t tell you 
precisely, but I know there was a wood, all arbute, 
and cork-trees, and rock-roses; it looked as though 
there had been a rain of blood all over them. And 
there was a smell—oh! the queerest kind of smell, 
it was something like tobacco. Then there was a 
cross on a stone, and you could see the water far 
away in the distance.” 

“ Why, of course!” cried Costantino. “‘ That was 
the forest of Cherbomine (Stagman). I should say 
I did know it. Once a hunter saw a stag there with 
golden horns. He fired, and shot it dead, but as 
the stag fell it gave a cry like a human being, and 
said: ‘The penance is completed!’ They say it 
was some human soul that had been forced to ex- 


146 After the Divorce 


piate a terrible sin of some sort. The cross was 
erected afterwards.” 

“And how about the horns? ” 

“ They say that as the hunter drew near the horns 
turned black.” , 

“ Pff! pff! how superstitious you all are, you peas- 
ants! Ah! here is the spring coming at last,” he 
continued, staring up at the sky. “ For my own 
part, the spring gets on my nerves. If I could 
but go hunting once. There was one time when 
I was hunting in the marshes near Cagliari: ah! 
those marshes, they look just like ever so many 
pieces of looking-glass thrown down from some- 
where above; and all around there were quantities 
of purple lilies. A long line of flamingoes were 
flying in single file; they stood out against the sky 
which was so bright you could hardly raise your 
eyes to it. Pum! pum! one of the flamingoes fell, 
the others flew on without making a sound. I 
rushed right into the middle of the marsh to get 
the one I had shot. I was as quick and agile as 
a fish in those days; I was only eighteen years old.” 

“What are flamingoes good for?”’ 

“ Nothing ; they stuff them; they have great, long 
legs like velvet. Have you ever been in that part 
of the country? Oh! yes, I remember, when you 
worked in the mines, you passed through Cagliari. 
I shall go back there some day, to die in blessed 
peace!” 

“You are melancholy nowadays.” 


After the Divorce 147 


“ What would you have, my friend? It is the 
spring; it is so depressing to have to pass Easter 
in prison. I shall take the Easter Instruction this 
year.” 

“T have taken it already.” 

“ Ah! you have taken it already?”’ And the two 
prisoners fell into a thoughtful silence. 

Thus April passed by, and May, and June. The 
dreary prison walls turned into ovens; unpleasant 
insects came to life, and once more preyed upon the 
unfortunate inmates; again the air was filled with 
sickening odours, and in the workroom, presided 
over by the same red-faced, taciturn guard, perspi- 
ration, fish, and leather fought for pre-eminence in 
the fetid atmosphere. 

Costantino, weaker than ever, suffered tortures 
from the insects. In former years he had slept so 
profoundly that nothing could disturb him, but now 
it was different, and a sudden sting would arouse 
him with a bound, and leave him trembling all over. 
Then insomnia set in, and periods of semi-conscious- 
ness that were worse than actual sleeplessness, 
haunted, as they sometimes were, with nightmare. 
Sharp twinges, not always from insects, shot through 
his entire body, and he would toss from side to side, 
gasping and sighing. 

Sometimes the torture became almost unendur- 
able, and often the orange glow of sunrise would 
shine through the window before he had been able 
to close an eye; then, overpowered by exhaustion, 


148 After the Divorce 


he would fall into a heavy slumber just as it was 
time to get up! 

Giovanna had now entirely ceased writing. Once 
only, towards the end of May, a letter had come, 
begging him not to send her any more money, as 
she now earned enough to live on, with care. After 
that there was nothing more. 

And yet he maintained his tranquil faith in her 
loyalty. Even this last letter he took as a fresh proof 
of her affection for him. 

Every day the King of Spades, waiting for his 
friend in the exercise hour, would betray a certain 
anxiety. 

“Well,” he would say uneasily, his sharp little 
.demon-eyes snapping from out of the big, clean- 
shaven, yellow face. “‘ Well, what news?” And 
when Costantino would seem to be surprised at the 
question, he too would look surprised, though he 
never would say at what. 

“Tt is warm weather,’ he would observe. 

“Yes, very warm.” 

“ The spring is over.” 

“I should say that it was!” 

“ Have they finished harvesting where you come 
from?” 

“Of course they have. My wife says there is no 
need to send her anything more now.” 

“Ah! I knew that already, my dear fel- 
low.” 

The ex-marshal hardly knew what to think; he 


After the Divorce 149 


was almost annoyed to find that his forebodings 
were not being verified. 

One day, however, Costantino failed to put in 
an appearance at the “ exercise,’’ and when the ex- 
marshal was told that his friend had been taken 
to the infirmary, he felt a strange tightening at the 
heart. Presently the old magpie came fluttering 
about, and, settling down with a shake of its half- 
bald, rumpled head, croaked out dismally: “ Cos- 
tan-ti, Cos-tan-ti.” | 

“* Costanti’ has had a stroke, my friend,” said 
the King of Spades. The other convicts began to 
crowd around him curiously. But he waved them 
all off. ‘I know nothing about it,” he said. “ Let 
me alone.” Up to nine o’clock, Bellini told them, 
Costantino had been at work with the rest as usual. 
Then a guard had said that he was wanted, no 
one knew what for; he had gotten quickly up, and 
gone off with him, as white as a sheet, and his 
eyes starting out of their sockets; he had not re- 
turned. 

To the last day of his life Costantino never forgot 
that morning. It was hot and overcast; the shadows 
of the clouds seemed to hang over the workroom, 
throwing half of it into deep gloom. The convicts 
all looked livid by this light, the leather aprons 
exhaled a strong and very disagreeable odour, and 
every one was out of humour. A man who was 
afraid of ghosts had been telling how in his part 
of the country, long, white, flowing forms could 


I50 After the Divorce 


be seen on dark nights, floating on the surface of 
the river; he asked Bellini if he had ever seen 
them. 

“I? No; I don’t believe in such foolishness.” 

“ Ah! you think it’s foolishness, do you?” said 
the other in a dull, monotonous tone, and staring 
into the shoe he was at work on. 

“ Calf!” murmured another, without looking up 
from his work. 

The believer in ghosts thereupon raised his head 
with an angry movement, and was about to reply in 
kind, when the first broke in, protestingly: “ Oh, 
really,” said he, “can’t I talk to myself? If I 
choose to say—calf,—or ram,—or sheep,—or dog, 
—what business is it of yours? Can’t I say things 
to my shoe, I’d like to know?” 

It was at this point that the guard had come, and 
called Costantino away, and the latter, who had 
passed a sleepless night, had opened his drowsy 
eyes, turned pale, and leaped to his feet. “‘ Who 
wants me?” he had asked, and then he had fol- 
lowed the guard. 

He was taken to a dingy room, filled with shelves 
of dusty papers. The dirty windows were closed; 
beyond them, through a red grating, could be seen 
the sky—dull and grey, as though it too were dirty. 
A man was seated writing, at a tall, dusty desk, 
piled so high with papers that between the papers 
and the dust the man himself could hardly be seen. 
As the prisoner entered he raised a flushed face, 


After the Divorce 151 


the small chin completely hidden by a heavy, blond 
moustache. He fixed a pair of big, round, dull- 
blue eyes upon Costantino, but apparently without 
seeing him, for he dropped them again immediately, 
and went on writing. 

Costantino, who had seen this man before, stood 
waiting, his heart thumping in his breast. Mechan- 
ically his thoughts dwelt upon the description of 
the water-phantoms he had just been listening to, 
and the voice saying: “ calf’; he wondered vaguely 
if one would be justified in feeling angry at that. 
Not a sound broke the stillness of the room, except 
the scratch, scratch, of the pen, as it travelled over 
the coarse paper. Again the pale blue eyes were 
fixed upon the prisoner, and again lowered to the 
sheet. Costantino, trembling and unnerved, -gazed 
desperately around the room. Still the man wrote 
on. The prisoner could feel his heart beating furi- 
ously; a thousand dark fancies, hideous, terrifying, 
rushed through his brain, like clouds driven before 
an angry tempest. And still the man wrote on, and 
on. Suddenly, without warning, all the dark fancies 
vanished,—dispersed and swallowed up, as it were, 
in a single glorious flood of light. A thought, so 
dazzling and beautiful as almost to be painful, shot 
into his mind. ‘“ They have discovered that I am 
innocent ! ” 

The idea did not remain for long, but it left 
behind it a vague, tremulous light. | 

The man was still writing, and did not stop as he 


152 After the Divorce 


presently said in a loud, hard voice: “‘ You are 
named es 

“ Costantino Ledda.” - 

“Where from?” 

“ Orlei, in Sardinia, Province of Sassari.” 

“Very good.” 

Silence. The man wrote a little while longer; 
then suddenly he dug his pen into the paper, raised 
his red face, and fastened his round, expressionless 
eyes upon the man standing before him. Costan- 
tino’s own eyes dropped. 

“Very good. Have you a wife?” 

pe fh 

“Any children?” 

“We had one, but he died.” 

“ Are you fond of your wife?” © 

“Yes,” replied Costantino, and raised his terri- 
fied eyes as far as the fat, red hand resting on the 
desk, with a ring on one finger having a purple 
stone; and between the thumb and forefinger, the 
stiff, black point of the pen. Not knowing where 
to fix his perplexed gaze, Costantino followed the 
movements of this pen, conscious all the while only 
of a feeling of supreme agony, as when one dreams 
that he is about to be swallowed up in a cataclysm. 

The hard voice was speaking again, in a low, 
measured tone. 

“You know, of course, that your wife’s whole 
life has been ruined by your fault. Young, hand- 
some, and blameless, the rest of her days must be 





After the Divorce 1e3 


spent in struggle and privation. The world holds 
out no promise of happiness for her, and yet she 
has never done any harm at all. As long as your 
child lived she endured her lot patiently, her hopes 
were fixed upon him. But now that he is dead 
what has she left? When you return to her,—if, 
indeed, God should be so merciful as to allow you 
to do so,—you will be old, broken-down, useless, 
and she will be the same. She sees stretching be- 
fore her a terrible future—nothing but sorrow, 
shame, poverty, and a miserable old age. No re- 
source but to beg; thus her life is a worse punish- 
ment even than yours——” 

Costantino, as white as death, panting, agonising, 
tried to protest, to say that he would surely be lib- 
erated before long, but the words died away on his 
lips; the other, meanwhile, gave him no chance, 
but pursued his theme in smooth, even tones, his 
dull eyes never leaving the prisoner’s face. 

“ Her life is thus a worse punishment even than 
yours. You should think of these things, and, aban- 
doning all hope, repent doubly of your crime.’”’ He 
cleared his throat, and then continued in a different 
tone: “ Now, however, the law has provided a means 
by which this great injustice can be rectified. You 
of course know very well that an act of divorce has 
gone into effect which enables a woman whose hus- 
band is guilty of a certain class of crime, to marry 
again. Should your wife—sit down, keep quiet— 
should your wife apply for such a divorce, it would 


154 After the Divorce 


be your duty to grant it at once. I know that you 
are, or pretend to be, after all, a good Chris- 
tian c 

Costantino, who was leaning on the table, shak- 
ing in every limb, but making a heroic effort to 
control himself, now broke in. ‘ Has she applied 
for it?’ he demanded. 

““ Sit down, sit down there,” said the other, mo- 
tioning with his pen; he wanted to continue his 
harangue, but Costantino again spoke, in a clear, 
firm voice that contrasted strangely with the trem- 
bling of his limbs. ‘I know my duty perfectly,” he 
said, “and I shall never give my consent. I shall 
undoubtedly be freed before very long, and then 
my wife would bitterly repent of her mistake.” 

Two deep wrinkles furrowed the red cheeks of 
the lecturer, and an ugly smile shone from his dull 
eyes. 

“Indeed!” he said. ‘“‘ Well, the consent of the 
prisoner is asked merely as a formality. It is, of 
course, his duty to give it, and his good-will counts 
for something in his favour. But it all comes to 
the same thing, whether he gives it or no—Eh, 
there! what—why—what is the matter?” For 
Costantino had given a sudden lurch, and collapsed 
on the floor like a bundle of limp rags. 











CHAPTER IX 


INETEEN Hundred and Ten. In the 
“strangers’ room” of the Porru house, 
Giovanna was looking over some purchases made 
that day in Nuoro. She was stouter than ever, and 
had lost something of her girlish look, but, never- 
theless, she was both fresh and handsome still. She 
examined the pieces of linen and woollen stuff at- 
tentively, turning them over and over and feeling 
them with a preoccupied air, as though not alto- 
gether satisfied with the selection; then, folding 
them carefully, she wrapped them in newspaper and 
laid them away in her bag. 

These things were the materials for her wed- 
ding outfit, for, having at last obtained her di- 
vorce, she was shortly to marry Dejas. She and 
her mother had come to Nuoro for the express 
purpose of making the purchases. The money had 
been borrowed with the utmost secrecy from Aunt 
Anna-Rosa Dejas, Giacobbe’s sister, who had al- 
ways taken a particular interest in Giovanna be- 
cause of having been for a short time her fos- 
ter-mother. It was the dead of winter, but the 
two women had courageously defied the fatigues 
and discomforts of the journey in order to lay in 

157 


158 After the Divorce 


a supply of linen, cotton, kerchiefs, and woollen 
stuffs. The ceremony, a purely civil one, was to 
be conducted in the strictest privacy, more so, even, 
than on the occasion of a widow’s marriage. But 
this made no difference to Aunt Bachissia, who was 
determined that her daughter should enter her new 
home fitted out in every respect like a youthful bride - 
of good family. 

The country-side was still wondering and gossip- 
ping over the scandalous affair, and it was rumoured 
that another couple contemplated applying for a 
divorce—by mutual consent. A great many people 
already looked askance at the Eras, and some said 
that Brontu had evil designs upon Giovanna. Gia- 
cobbe Dejas, Isidoro Pane, and a number of other ~ 
friends had stopped going to the house after making 
final scenes that were almost violent. Giacobbe had 
snarled like a dog, and had used prayers and even 
threats in a last, vain effort to dissuade Giovanna 
from the step, until Aunt Bachissia had, at length, 
driven him out. Even Aunt Porredda at Nuoro, 
although it was her son who had obtained the divorce 
for Giovanna, had received her friends with marked 
coolness. The “ Doctor,’ as she called her son, was, 
on the contrary, most cordial and attentive in his 
manner towards their guests. 

So Giovanna was folding up her possessions in 
a thoughtful mood, her preoccupation having, how- 
ever, to do solely with those bits of stuff. The linen, 
it appeared, was somewhat tumbled; the fringe of 


After the Divorce 159 


the black Thibet kerchief, with its big crimson 
roses, was too short; one piece of ribbon had a spot 
on it,—worrying matters, all of them. 

Night was falling—like that other time—but the 
surroundings, and the weather, and—her heart, 
were all, quite, quite different. The “ strangers’ 
room” now had a fine window, through whose 
panes shone the clear, cold light of a winter evening. 
The furniture, all entirely new, exhaled a powerful 
smell of varnished wood, while its surface glistened 
like hoarfrost. The door opened on the same cov- 
ered gallery, but new granite steps now led down 
to the courtyard. The “ Doctor’s’’ practice was 
growing, and the entire house had been done over. 
He now had an office in the busiest part of the town, 
and was much in demand both for civil and penal 
processes. The most desperate cases, the worst 
offenders, all that class of clients who have the least 
to hope from the law, entrusted their affairs to him. 

Giovanna folded, wrapped, and packed her pos- 
sessions, and then, the bag being somewhat over- 
full, she shook it vigorously to make the contents 
settle down; this accomplished, she turned with 
knitted brows, and slowly descended the outer stair, 
both hands thrust deep in the pockets always to be 
found just below the waist in the skirt of a Sar- 
dinian costume. 

It was an evening in January, clear but extremely 
cold. Some silver stars,’set in the cloudless blue of 
the sky, seemed to tremble in the frosty atmosphere. 


160 After the Divorce 


Crossing the courtyard Giovanna could see, through 
the window of the lighted dining-room, Grazia’s 
pale face and great, eager eyes as she sat turning 
over the leaves of a fashion paper. The child had 
developed into a tall and pretty girl; she was dressed 
in the latest fashion, with great lace wings extend- 
ing from the shoulders behind the arms; they obliged 
their wearers to walk sideways through any narrow 
aperture, but made them look, by way of compen- 
sation, like so many angels before the fall. 
_ Grazia, seeing the guest, smiled at her without 
getting up, and the latter entered the kitchen. 
Here, too, everything was new; the white walls, 
the stove of glistening bricks, the petroleum lamp 
hanging from the ceiling. It was all so gorgeous 
that Aunt Bachissia could not refrain from gazing 
about her the whole time, her shining, little, green 
beads of eyes, snapping and sparkling in the sallow, 
hawklike face, set in the folds of a black scarf. She 
at least, was unchanged—the old witch! She was 
seated beside the servant-maid, a dirty, dishevelled 
young person, whose loud and frequent laugh dis- 
played a set of protruding teeth. Aunt Porredda 
was cooking, and scolding the maid for this annoy- 
ing habit of hers. Only fancy! Here was the mis- 
tress doing the cooking, while the servant sat by the 
stove and—laughed! What kind of way to do was 
that? And, moreover, the good woman could never 
have one single moment’s peace, and she the mother 
of a famous lawyer! 


After the Divorce 161 


Giovanna seated herself at some little distance 
from the stove, stooping over with her hands still 
buried in the pockets of her skirt. 

“ Just look!’ exclaimed Aunt Bachissia in a tone 
of envy. “ This kitchen might be a parlour! You 
must do your kitchen up like this, Giovanna.” 

“ Yes,”’ said the young woman absent-mindedly. 

“Yes? Well, upon my soul, I should say so! 
Godmother Malthina is close, but you have got to 
make her understand that money is meant to spend. 
A kitchen like this—why, it is heaven—upon my 
soul! This is living.” 

“ What do you always say ‘ upon my soul’ for?” 
asked the giggling servant-maid. 

“Tf she doesn’t choose to spend her money, how 
am I to make her?” said Giovanna with a sigh. 

The servant was still laughing, but Aunt Por- 
redda, who wanted to keep out of her guests’ con- 
versation, turned on her, and sharply ordered her 
to grate some cheese for the macaroni. The girl 
obeyed. 

“ What is the matter with you?” asked Aunt Ba- 
chissia as Giovanna sighed again. 

“She remembers!”’ said Aunt Porredda to her- 
self. “ After all, she is a Christian, not an animal, 
and she can’t help herself!” 

But Giovanna spoke up crossly: 

“Well, it’s just this; they've cheated us. That 
is not good linen, and the ribbon is spotted. Oh! 
it is too much.” 


162 After the Divorce 


“Upon my soul!” said the maid, mimicking 
Aunt Bachissia’s voice and accent, and grating away 
vigorously on the cheese. 

Aunt Porredda thereupon let out upon her all the 
vials of wrath she would fain have emptied upon 
her guests, calling her by all the names which, in 
her secret heart, she was applying to Giovanna— 
“shameless,” “‘ vile,” “ ungrateful,” ‘ despicable,” 
and so on, and threatening to strike her over the 
head with the ladle. In her terror, the girl grated 
the skin off one finger, and she was in the act of 
displaying it with the blood streaming down when 
the lawyer-son limped briskly into the room. He 
was enveloped in a long, black overcoat, so full 
that it looked like a cloak with sleeves. His smooth, 
fresh-coloured little face beamed with the self-satis- 
fied expression of a nursing child. Asking imme- 
diately what there was to eat, he dropped into a 
seat beside Aunt Bachissia, and sat there chatting 
until supper was ready. After him the little Minnia 
came running in, rosy, breathless, and dishevelled, 
and threw herself down by the servant-maid. The 
boy had died three years earlier. The little girl’s 
dress, of black and red flannel, was pretty enough, 
but her shoes were torn and her hands dirty. She 
had spent the entire day tearing around in a neigh- 
bouring truck-garden, and began to pour out con- 
fidences to the servant in an eager undertone. 

“Upon my soul!” repeated the servant, in the 
same tone as before. 


After the Divorce 163 


Next Uncle Efes Maria’s big face, with its thick, 
wide-open lips, appeared in the door, wanting to 
know why they could not have supper right away. 

The dining-room was now furnished with two tall, 
shining cupboards of varnished wood, and the whole 
apartment had quite an air of elegance—strips of 
carpet on the stone floor, a stove, and so on. Poor 
Aunt Porredda, with her big feet and hobnailed 
shoes, never felt really at home there; while Uncle 
Efes Maria had not yet cured himself of the habit 
of staring proudly around him. Grazia, tall and ele- 
gant, always withdrew into herself when her relations 
came into this room, where she passed most of her 
time eagerly devouring the Unique Mode, the Pe- 
tite Parisienne, and the fashion articles of a family 
journal,—sufficiently immoral in its tone, since it 
fomented such unhealthy dreams in her foolish head. 
Ah, those low-cut gowns, covered with embroidery ; 
those scarfs worked in gold; those bodices with 
their great wings of silver lace, the rainbow hues, 
the spangles glittering like frost! Ah, those hats 
covered with artificial fruits, and the long flower 
boas, and petticoats trimmed with lace at thirty lire 
a yard, and the painted gloves, and fans made of 
human skin! How beautiful it all was,—horribly, 
terrifyingly beautiful! Merely to read about these 
things gave her a sort of spasm, they were so beau- 
tiful, so beautiful, so beautiful. And afterwards, 
how ugly and common and flat everything seemed, 
—the simple old grandmother, with her fat, wrin- 


164 After the Divorce 


kled face; and the dull grandfather, gazing about 
him with such ignorant satisfaction and pride! It 
was all simply stultifying. 

Just as on that other, far-away evening, Aunt 
Porredda came in, bearing triumphantly the steam- 
ing dish of macaroni, and all the members of the 
party seated themselves around the table. Aunt 
Bachissia, finding herself in the shadow, so to speak, 
of Grazia’s wings, forthwith broke anew into loud 
exclamations of wonder and admiration, this time 
a propos of those glorious objects: 

“No, we have never seen anything like that in 
our neighbourhood, but then, we have no ladies 
there. Here they all look like angels, the ladies.” 

“Or bats,” said Uncle Efes Maria. “ Eh, it’s 
the fashion, my dears. Why, I remember when I 
was a child the ladies were all big and round; they 
looked like cupolas. There hardly were any ladies 
in those days,—the Superintendent’s wife, the fam- 
ily———” 

“ And then that thing behind,” interrupted Aunt 
Porredda. “Oh! I remember that, it looked like 
a saddle. Well, if you’ll believe me, upon my word 
and honour, I remember one time some one sat 
down on one of them.” | 

“The last time we were here,’ said Aunt Ba- 
chissia, “ those wings were little things; now they 
are growing, growing.” 

Grazia sat eating her supper as though she did 
not hear a word of what the others were saying. 


After the Divorce 165 


The “ Doctor ” eat his too—like a gristmill—star- 
ing at his niece all the while with the look of a 
pleased child. ‘Growing, growing,’ said he. 
“The next thing we know they’ll all take flight.” 

Grazia shrugged her shoulders, or rather her 
wings, and neither spoke nor looked up. She fre- 
quently found her uncle,—that hero of her first, 
young dream,—very trying, and worse than trying 
—foolish! It was the common talk of the town 
that the uncle and niece were going to marry, and 
he, when interrogated on the subject, would answer 
neither yes nor no. 

The conversation continued for some time on 
impersonal topics. Every now and then Aunt Por- 
redda would get up and pass in and out of the room, 
and occasionally the talk would die away, and long 
pauses ensue that were almost embarrassing. Like 
that other time every one instinctively avoided the 
subject uppermost in the minds of the guests; who, 
on the whole, were just as well pleased to have it 
so. But, just as before, it was Aunt Bachissia, this 
time without intending to, who introduced the un- 
welcome topic. She asked if the report that the 
“Doctor” was to marry his niece were true 
or no. 

The Porrus looked at one another, and Grazia, 
bending her head still lower over her plate, laughed 
softly to herself. 

Paolo glanced at the girl, and, with an irony that 
seemed a little forced, replied: 


166 After the Divorce 


“Eh, no! She is going to marry the Very Right 
Honourable Sub-Prefect! ” 

Grazia raised her head with a sudden move- 
ment and opened her lips, then as quickly lowered 
it, the blood meanwhile rushing up to her fore- 
head. 

“Oh! he’s old,” said Minnia. ‘I know him; 
he’s always walking about the station. Ugh! he 
has a long, red beard, and a high hat.” 

“A high hat too?” 

“Yes, a high hat—a widower.” 

“ The high hat is a widower? ” 

“You shut up!” said the child sharply, turning 
on her sister. 

“No, I’m not going to shut up. He’s a Free- 
mason; he won’t have his children baptised, or be 
married in church. That’s the way of it; he’ll not 
marry in church.” 

“The young lady is well informed,” said Uncle 
Efes Maria, polished as usual. 

Thereupon Aunt Porredda, who had almost 
shrieked aloud at the word ‘‘ Freemason,” waved 
both arms in the air, and burst out: 

“Yes, a Freemason! One of those people who 
pray to the devil. Upon my word, I believe my 
granddaughter there would just as leave have him! 
We are all on the road to perdition here, and why 
not? There’s Grazia, forever reading bad books, 
and those infernal papers, till now she doesn’t want 
to go to confession any more! Ah, those prohib- 


After the Divorce 167 


ited books! I lie awake all night thinking of them. 
But now, this is what I want to say: Grazia reads 
bad books; Paolo,—you see him, that one over 
there, Doctor Pededdu,—well, he studied on the 
Continent where they don’t believe in God any more; 
now that’s all right, at least, it isn’t, it’s all wrong, 
but you can understand a little why those two poor , 
creatures have stopped believing in God. But the 
rest of us, who don’t know anything about books © 
and who have never in our lives ridden on a rail- 
road,—that devil’s horse,—why should we cease to 
believe in God, in our kind Saviour, who died for 
us on the cross? Why? why? tell me why. You 
there, Giovanna Era, tell me why you should be 
willing to marry a man by civil ceremony when 
you already have a husband living?” 

The final clause of Aunt Porredda’s oration fell 
with startling effect upon her audience. Grazia, 
who, with a smile upon her lips, had been busily 
engaged in rolling pieces of bread into little pellets, 
raised her head quickly, and the smile died away; 
Paolo, who, likewise smiling, had been fitting the 
blade of a knife in and out of the prongs of his 
fork, straightened himself with a brusque move- 
ment; and Uncle Efes Maria turned his dull, round 
face towards Giovanna, and fixed her with an im- 
passive stare. 

Giovanna herself, the object of this wholly un- 
looked-for attack, though she flushed crimson, re- 
plied with cynical indifference: 


168 After the Divorce 


“‘T haven’t any husband, my dear Aunt Porredda. 
Ask your son over there.” 

“My son!” exclaimed the other angrily. “I 
have no son. He’s a child of the devil!” 

It almost seemed as though Giovanna had suc- 
ceeded in throwing the responsibilty of her act upon 
Paolo, because he had won her case for her! 

Every one laughed at Aunt Porredda’s outbreak, 
even Minnia, and the servant who entered the room 
at that moment, carrying the cheese. Notwith- 
standing her wrath, Aunt Porredda took the dish 
and handed it politely to her guests. 

“Upon my soul,” said Aunt Bachissia, carefully 
cutting herself a slice, and speaking in a tone of 
gentle melancholy, ‘‘ you are as good as gold, there 
is no doubt about that, but—you live at your ease, 
you have a house like a church, and a husband like 
a strong tower [Uncle Efes Maria coughed], and 
you have a circle of stars about you—motioning 
towards them—-so it is easy enough to talk like that. 
Ah! if you knew once what it meant to be in want, 
and to look forward to having to beg your bread 
in your old age! Do you understand? In your 
old age!”’ 

“ Bravo!” cried Paolo. ‘‘ But I would like to 
have a clean knife.” 

“What difference does that make, Bachissia 
Era? ” answered Aunt Porredda. ‘ You are afraid 
to trust in Divine Providence, and that means that 
you have lost your faith in God! How do you know 


After the Divorce 169 


whether you will be poor or rich when you are old? 
Is not Costantino Ledda coming back some day?” 

“Yes to be a beggar too,” said Aunt Bachissia 
coldly. 

“ And God alone knows whether he ever will 
come back,” observed the young lawyer brutally, 
taking the knife which the servant held out to him, 
blade foremost. 

They had all heard that Costantino was ill, and 
there was a report that his lungs were affected. 

In order to appear agitated,—and possibly she 
really was so to some extent,—Giovanna now hid 
her face in her hands and said brokenly: 

“ Besides—if it is only to be a civil ceremony— 
it is—it is because———’ ‘Then she stopped. 

“Well, why don’t you go on?” cried Paolo. 
“You are to be married by civil ceremony because 
the priests won’t give you any other! They don’t 
understand, and they never will understand; just as 
you will never understand, Mamma Porredda. 
What is marriage, after all? It is a contract made 
between men, and binding only in the sight of 
men. The religious ceremony really means nothing 
at all——’”’ 

“Tt is a sacrament!” cried Aunt Porredda, be- 
side herself. 

“ Means nothing at all,” continued Paolo. “ Just 
as some day the civil ceremony will mean nothing 
at all. Men and women should be at liberty to 
enter spontaneously into unions with one another 


170 After the Divorce 


and to dissolve them when they cease to be in har- 
mony. The man——’ 

‘“‘ Ah, you are no better than a beast! ’’ exclaimed 
Aunt Porredda, though it was, in fact, not the 
' first time that she had heard her son express these 
views. ‘It is the end of the world. God has grown 
weary; and who can wonder? He is punishing us; 
this is the deluge. I have heard that there have been 
terrible earthquakes already!”’ 

“There have always been earthquakes,” observed 
Uncle Efes Maria, who did not know whether to 
side with his wife or his son. Probably, in the 
bottom of his heart his sympathies were with the 
former, but he did not want to say so openly for 
fear of being looked down upon by the gifted 
Paolo. 

The latter made no reply. Already he regretted 
having said so much, being too truly attached to his 
mother to wish to give her needless pain. Giovanna 
now took her hands from her face, and spoke in a 
tone of gentle humility: 

“Listen,” said she. ‘‘ When I was married be- 
fore—to that unfortunate—l had only the civil cere- 
mony, and if he had not been arrested, who knows © 
when we ever would have had the religious mar- 
riage! And yet, were we not just as much man and 
wife? No one ever said a word, and God, who 
knows all, was not offended 4 

“ But he punished you,” said Aunt Porredda 
quickly. 





After the Divorce 171 


“ That remains to be seen!” shouted Aunt Ba- 
chissia, whose bile was beginning to rise. “ Was the 
punishment for that, or for Basile Ledda’s mur- 
der?” 

“Tf it had been for the murder, only Costantino 
would have been punished.” 

“ Well,” said the old witch, her green eyes glit- 
tering with triumph, “is not that just what | am 
saying? My Giovanna here is not to be punished 
any longer for his fault, since God has given her the 
opportunity to marry a young man who is fond of 
her, and who will make her forget all her suffer- 
ings!” | 

“And who is also rich,’ remarked Uncle Efes 
Maria, and no one could tell whether he spoke in- 
genuously or no. 

Giovanna, who had quite lost the thread of her 
discourse, was, nevertheless, determined to continue 
her rdle of patient martyr. “ Ah, my dear Aunt 
Porredda,”’ said she, “ you don’t know all, but God, 
who alone can see into our hearts, he will forgive 
me even if I live in mortal sin, because he will know 
that the fault is not with me. I would gladly have 
the religious ceremony, but it cannot be.” 

“Yes, because you are married already to some 
one else, you child of the devil!” 

“ But that other one is as good as dead! Just 
tell me now, can he help me to earn a living? And 
if the lawyers, who are educated and learned, and 
who know what life really is, can dissolve civil 


172 After the Divorce 


marriages, why can’t the priests dissolve religious 
ones? Perhaps they don’t understand about it. 
There is that priest whom we have—Elias Portolu 
—the one who is so good, you know him? he talks 
like a saint, and never gets angry with any one. 
Well, even he can’t say anything but ‘ No, no, no; 
marriage can only be dissolved by death—and go 
and be blessed, if you don’t know what is right!’ 
Does a body have to live? Yes, or no? And when 
you can’t live, when you are as poor as Job, and can’t 
get work, and have nothing, nothing, nothing! And 
just tell me, you, Aunt Porredda, suppose I had 
been some other woman, and suppose there had been 
no divorce, what would have happened? Why, 
mortal sin, that is what would have happened, mor- 
tal sin!” 

“And in your old age—want,’’ said Aunt Ba- 
chissia. 

The servant brought in the fruit: bunches of 
black, shining, dried grapes, and wrinkled pears, 
as yellow as autumn leaves. 

The old hostess handed the dish to her old guest, 
with an indescribable look of compassion. Her 
anger, and disdain, and indignation had suddenly 
melted away as she realised the sordid natures of 
the mother and daughter. “Good San Francisco, 
forgive them,” she prayed inwardly. “ Because 
they are so ignorant, and blind, and hard!” Then 
she said mildly: ‘‘ You and I, Bachissia Era, are 
old women, and you, Giovanna, will be old some 


After the Divorce 173 


day. Now tell me one thing: what is it that comes. 
after old age?” 

“Why, death.” 

“ Death; yes, death comes after. And after death 
what is there? ”’ 

“ Eternity?” said Paolo, laughing softly to him- 
self as he devoured his grapes like a greedy child, 
holding the bunch close to his mouth, and detaching 
the seeds with his sharp little teeth. 

“Eternity, precisely; eternity comes after— 
where are you going, Minnia? Stay where you 
are.” But the child, tired of the conversation, 
slipped out of the room. ‘‘ What do you say, Gio- 
vanna Era, does eternity follow? yes, or no? Ba- | 
chissia Era—yes, or no?” 

“Yes,” said the guests. 

“Yes? and yet you never think of it?” 

.“ Oh! what is the use of thinking of it?” said | 
Paolo, getting up, and wiping his mouth with his 
napkin; he felt that it was high time for him to be 
off ; he had already wasted too much time on these 
women, who, after all, were interesting solely from 
the fact that they had not yet paid him. “ There 
are some people waiting to see me at the office— 
several people, in fact,” he said. “I will see you 
again; you are not leaving yet awhile? ” 

“ To-morrow morning at daybreak.” 

“Not really? Oh! you had better stay longer,” 
he said indifferently, as he struggled into his huge 
overcoat. When it was on, Aunt Bachissia—watch- 


174 After the Divorce 


ing him out of her sharp green eyes—thought that 
the little Doctor looked like a magia, that is, one 
of those grotesque and frightening figures whom 
wizards evoke by their arts. 

He departed, and immediately afterwards Miss 
Grazia, who had hardly spoken throughout the en- 
tire meal, arose and left the room as well. Uncle 
Efes Maria settled himself back in his chair, and 
began to read the New Sardinia. Bursts of laugh- 
ter came from the two girls in the kitchen, and the 
women sat, each eating a pear, in perfect silence. 
A weight hung over them; upon Aunt Porredda as 
well as upon the others, for she was realising in her 
simple untutored mind that the disease that had 
attacked the souls of her ignorant guests was one 
and the same as that from which her sophisticated 
son and granddaughter were suffering. 


&» 


CHAPTER X 


HE next morning, just as on that day so long 

before, Giovanna was the first to stir, while 

Aunt Bachissia, who like most elderly people usually 

lay awake until late into the night, still slept, though 
lightly and with laboured breath. 

The light of the early winter morning, cold but 
clear, shone through the curtained window-panes. 
Giovanna had fallen asleep the night before feeling 
sad,—though Aunt Porredda’s outbreak had an- 
noyed rather than distressed her,—but now, as she 
looked out and saw the promise of a bright day 
for the journey, she felt a sensation of joyous an- 
ticipation. 

Yes, she had felt quite melancholy on the previous 
evening before falling asleep, thinking of Costan- 
tino, and eternity, and her dead child, and all sorts 
of depressing things. ‘ I have not a bad heart,” she 
had reflected. ‘‘ And God looks into our hearts and - 
judges more by our intentions than by our actions. 
I have considered everything, everything. I was 
very fond of Costantino, and I cried just as long as 
I had any tears to shed. Now I have no more; I 
don’t believe he will ever come back, and if he does 
it will not be until we are both old; I can’t go on 

175 


176 After the Divorce 


crying forever. Why should it be my fault if I 
can’t cry now when I think of him? And then, 
after all, I am just a creature of flesh and blood, 
like every one else; I am poor and exposed to sin 
and temptation, and in order to save myself from 
these I am taking the position which God has pro- 
vided for me. Yes, my dear Aunt Porredda, I do 
remember eternity, and it is to save my soul that I 
am doing what I am doing—no, I am not bad; I 
have not a bad heart.’ And so she very nearly 
persuaded herself that her heart not only was not 
bad, but that it was quite good and noble; at least, 
if this was not the conviction of that innermost 
depth of conscience, that depth which refused to lie, 
and from whence had issued the disturbing veil of 
sadness that hung over her, it was of her outer and 
more practical mind, and at last, quite comforted, 
she fell asleep. 

And now the frosty daybreak was striking with 
its diaphanous wings—cold and pure as hoarfrost 
—against the window-panes of the “ strangers’ 
room,” and Giovanna thought of the sun and her 
spirits rose. The older woman presently awoke 
as well, and she too turned at once to the win- 
dow. | 

“ Ah!” she exclaimed in a tone of satisfaction. 
“It is going to be fine.” They dressed and went 
down. Aunt Porredda, polite and attentive as usual, 
was already in the kitchen. She served her guests 
with coffee, and helped them to saddle the horse. 


After the Divorce 177 


To all appearances she had quite forgotten the dis- 
cussion of the previous evening, but no sooner had 
the two women passed out the door than she made 
the sign of the cross, as though to exorcise the 
mortal sin as well. ‘“‘ Very good,” she said to her- 
self, closing the door after them. “A _ pleasant 
journey to you, and may the Lord have mercy on 
your souls! ”’ 

Through the crystalline stillness of the morning 
came the sound of shrill cock-crowing—close at 
hand, further away, and further still; but the little 
town still slept beneath its canopy of china-blue. 

This time the Eras were to make the journey 
alone. They had to descend into the valley, cross 
it, and then climb the mountain-range which they 
could see beyond, showing grey in the early light, its 
snowcapped peaks standing out boldly against the 
horizon. 

It was very cold; there was no wind, but the air 
cut keenly. As they descended into the wild valley 
the intense stillness seemed only to be intensified by 
the monotonous murmur of a mountain stream. The 
short winter grass, bright green in colour, and shin- 
ing with hoarfrost, showed here and there in vivid 
patches along the edges of the winding path. From 
the rocks came a smell of damp moss, and the green 
copses sparkled with a glittering layer of frost. 
The whole valley was radiantly fresh and sweet 
and wild, but here and there gnarled outlines of 
solitary trees stood out like hermits penitentially ex- 


178 After the Divorce 


posing their bent and naked forms to the cold bril- 
liance of the winter’s morning. 

In the fields the earth showed black and damp; 
and long lines of dilapidated wall, climbing the 
hillsides and descending into the hollows, looked, 
with their coating of green moss, like huge green 
worms. On, and on, and on, journeyed the two 
women, their hands and feet and faces numb and 
stiff with cold. They crossed the stream at a ford 
where the water ran broad and shallow and quiet, 
then they reascended the valley and began to climb 
the mountain at its further end. The sun, now well 
above the horizon, was shining with a cold, clear 
radiance, and the mountains of the distant coast- 
range showed blue against the gold of the sky. The 
wind had risen as well, and, laden with the odour 
of damp rocks and earth, was stirring among the 
shrubs and bushes. The two women proceeded si- 
lently on their way, each buried in her own thoughts. 
In the middle of a small defile, overhung by rocks, 
and shadowed by the lofty snowcapped summits of 
the mountains, they met a man of Bitti journeying 
on foot : the travellers exchanged greetings, although 
unknown to one another, and passed on their re- 
spective ways. As the women mounted higher and 
higher, the sun enveloped and warmed them more 
and more; and they thought of the half of the jour- 
ney already accomplished, of the purchases they were 
carrying back in the wallet, of what they would 
do when they got home; and Aunt Bachissia thought 


After the Divorce 179 


of Aunt Martina’s amazement when she should see 
Giovanna’s outfit, while Giovanna thought of Brontu 
and of the queer things he would sometimes say 
when he was drunk. Preoccupied as they were, 
however, when they caught sight of the white walls 
of the church of San Francisco glistening among 
the green bushes half-way up the mountain side, 
each thought of Costantino, and said an Ave Maria 
for him. 

Shortly after midday they reached home. Orlei, 
set in its circle of damp fields, and blown upon by 
the frozen breath of the mighty sphinxes whose 
heads were now wreathed in bands of snow, was 
far colder than Nuoro, and the sun could barely 
warm life into the scanty herbage in its narrow, 
melancholy streets. The roofs were covered with 
rust and mildew, some of them overgrown with 
dog-grass; the walls were black with damp; the 
trees, nude and brown. Here and there a thin line 
of smoke could be seen curling upwards into the 
limitless space above; but, as usual, the village ap- 
peared to be utterly silent and deserted. In the 
crevices of the walls the little purple and green 
cups of the Venus’s looking-glass bloomed chillily ; 
speckled lizards crawled into the sun, and snails 
and shining beetles mounted patiently from stone 
to stone. | 

Aunt Martina, seated on her portico, spinning in 
the sun, saw the arrival of the travellers, and was 
instantly devoured by curiosity to know what they 


180 After the Divorce 


had in their wallet; she controlled herself, however, 
and returned their greeting with courteous com- 
posure. 

Towards evening Brontu arrived; he visited his 
betrothed every three days, and this evening his 
mother decided to accompany him, in order to see 
the purchases made by her neighbours in Nuoro. 

A sparse little fire of juniper-wood was burning 
on Aunt Bachissia’s hearth, throwing out fitful 
gleams of light across the paved flooring, and light- 
ing up the earthen walls of the kitchen with a faint, 
rosy glow. Giovanna wanted to bring a candle, but 
the visitors prevented her, Aunt Martina from 
an instinct of economy, and Brontu because in 
the dim firelight he felt freer to gaze at his be- 
trothed. 

The attitude of the latter towards her future 
mother-in-law and towards Brontu himself was quite 
perfect. She had a gentle, subdued manner, and 
spoke in childlike tones, albeit expressing sentiments 
of profound wisdom. She gave shy glances from 
beneath her long, thick lashes, and might have been 
a girl of fifteen so guileless and innocent was her 
bearing. She was not, in truth, consciously acting 
a part; what she did was purely instinctive. 

Brontu was madly in love with her, and now, 
when he had been drinking, he would run to her, 
and, throwing himself on his knees, repeat certain 
puerile prayers learned in infancy. Then he would 
begin to cry because he realised that he was tipsy, 


After the Divorce 181 


and would swear that never, never again would he 
touch a drop. 

This evening, however, he was entirely himself, 
and sat talking quietly, enfolding Giovanna all the 
while in a passionate gaze, and smiling and dis- 
playing his teeth, which gleamed in the firelight. 

Aunt Bachissia began to tell about their trip; she 
spoke of the greatcoat worn by the young lawyer, 
and of the “ wings” in fashion among the Nuo- 
rese ladies; then she described the Porrus’ kitchen, 
and told of their meeting a man on the road; but 
of the discussion started by Aunt Porredda at the 
supper-table, and of the purchases she and Giovanna 
had made, she said never a word. She knew, how- 
ever, very well that Aunt Martina could hardly wait 
to see the new possessions, and was herself no less 
anxious to display them. 

“And what have you to say about it all, Gio- 
vanna?’”’ said Brontu, stirring the fire with the end 
of his stick. ‘ You are very quiet to-night. What 
is the matter? ” 

“I am tired,” she replied, and then suddenly 
asked about Giacobbe Dejas. 

“That crazy man? He torments the life out of 
me; I shall end some day by kicking him out. He 
does not need to work now for a living, anyhow.” 

“T don’t know how it is,” said Aunt Bachissia. 
“He used to be such a cheerful soul, and now, 
when he has a house and cattle, and they even say 
he is going to be married, his temper is some- 


182 After the Divorce 





thing: ! You knew, didn’t you, that he threat- 
ened to beat us? ” 

“Did he ever come back?” 

“No; never since that time.” 

“Nor Isidoro Pane either,” said Giovanna in a 
dull voice. 

“T thought I saw him go by here yesterday even- 
ing,” said Aunt Martina. 

Giovanna raised her head quickly, but she did 
not speak, and Brontu laughingly remarked that 
he supposed she did not stand in any particular 
need of leeches just at present. 

“Well,” said Aunt Martina at length, “didn’t you 
bring me anything from Nuoro? You keep one a 
long time in suspense!”’ They had, in fact, brought 
her an apron, but Aunt Bachissia feigned surprise 
and mortification. ‘‘ Of course,” said she, “ we had 
forgotten for the moment ” And she gave a 
shrill laugh, but sobered down instantly on observ- 
ing that Giovanna took no part in these pleasantries, 
and seemed unable to shake off her melancholy. 

“No, no; we never thought about it, but Gio- 
vanna will show you a few trifles that we 
bought i 

Giovanna got up, lighted a candle, and went into 
the adjoining room, Brontu’s ardent gaze following 
her. Aunt Martina sat waiting for her present. 
Several moments passed and Giovanna did not re- 
turn. 

“What is she doing in there?” asked Brontu. 








After the Divorce 183 


* Who knows?” 

Another minute elapsed. 

“JT am going to see,” he said, jumping up and 
walking towards the door. 

“No, no; what are you thinking of?” said Aunt 
Bachissia, but so faint-heartedly that Aunt Mar- 
tina—scandalised—called to her son to come back 
with energetic: ‘‘ Zss—zss——’”’ 

Brontu, however, paying no attention, tiptoed to 
the door. Giovanna was standing before an open 
drawer, re-reading a letter which she had found - 
slipped underneath the door when they got home 
that day. It was a heartbroken appeal from Cos- 
tantino. In his round, unformed characters he 
implored her for the last time not to do this thing 
that she was about to do. He reminded her of the 
far-away time of their early love; he promised to 
come back ; he assured her solemnly of his innocence. 
“Tf you have no pity for me,” the letter concluded, 
“at least have some for yourself, for your own 
soul. Remember the mortal sin: remember eter- 
nity!” 

Ah, the same words that Aunt Porredda had used ; 
the very same, the very same! Uncle Isidoro must 
have slipped the letter in while they were away. 
How long it had been since they had had any direct 
news of the prisoner! The tears rushed to her 
eyes, but what moved her were probably more the 
memories of the past than any thoughts of that 
eternal future. 


184 After the Divorce 


Suddenly she heard the door being pushed softly 
open, and some one stealing in behind her. Lean- 
ing quickly over, she began to rummage in the 
drawer, with trembling hands and misty eyes. 

Brontu stood directly behind her with out- 
stretched arms, he clasped her around the shoulders, 
and she, pretending to be frightened, began to 
tremble. 

“What is it? What are you doing?” he asked in 
a low, broken voice. 

“Oh! I am looking—looking—the apron we got 
for your mother—I don’t know what I have done 
with it. Let me go, let me go,” she said, trying 
to free herself from his embrace. Close to her 
face she saw his white teeth gleaming between the 
full, smiling lips, as red and lustrous as two ripe 
cherries; then, suddenly, she felt his hand behind 
her head, and those two burning lips were pressed 
close to her own in a kiss that was like the blast 
from a fiery furnace. 

“Ah!” she panted. “ We have forgotten eter- 
nity!”’ | 

A little later she was seated once more in her 
place by the fire, laughing with all the abandon- 
ment of a happy child; while Brontu regarded her 
with the same look in his eyes that he had when 
he had been drinking. 

The winter passed by. Costantino’s friends never 
abandoned their efforts to break off the accursed 
match, but in vain. The Dejases and Eras were 


After the Divorce 185 


like people bewitched, and remained deaf alike to 
prayers, threats, and innuendoes. The syndic, even 
the syndic, a pale and haughty personage who re- 
sembled Napoleon I., was against this “‘ devil’s mar- 
riage,” and when Brontu and Giovanna came to him 
in great secrecy to have it published, he treated 
them with the utmost contempt, spitting on the 
ground all the time they were there. 

When the question of the divorce had first been 
mooted, people talked and wondered, but nothing 
more; then, when it was said that Brontu and Gio- 
vanna were in love with each other, there was gen- 
eral disapproval, yet at bottom the community was 
not ill-pleased to have such a fruitful theme to gossip 
about; but when there was talk of a marriage !— 
then every one said it was simply and purely an 
impossibility. The neighbours laughed, and rather 
hoped that Brontu was amusing himself at the ex- 
pense of the Eras. After that, had the young people 
merely lived together in “mortal sin” probably 
nothing more would have been said, and people 
would have ceased to laugh and thought no more 
about it. It would not have been the first time that 
such a thing had occurred, nor was it likely to be, 
the last; and Giovanna could cite her youth and 
poverty by way of excuse. But—marry a woman 
who already had a husband! marry her! That was 
a thing not to be stood! What would you have? 
People are made that way. And then the disgrace 
and scandal of it! Why, it was a sin, a horrible 


186 After the Divorce 


sin, and it was feared that God might punish the 
entire community for the fault of these two. There 
were even threats of making a demonstration on 
the marriage day—whistling, stone-throwing, and 
beating the bride and bridegroom. When rumours 
of these things reached their ears Brontu became 
very angry. Aunt Bachissia said: “ Leave them 
to me!” and Aunt Martina threw up her head 
with the movement of a war-horse when it scents 
the smell of the first volley. 

Ah! she would rather like to fight and—win. 
She was beginning to feel old, she was tired of 
work, and well pleased at the prospect of having a 
strong servant in the house without wages. More- 
over, she liked Giovanna, and Brontu wanted her, 
and so people might burst with envy if they chose. 

On the evening of the day when the marriage 
was published, Uncle Isidoro Pane was working 
hard in his miserable hut by the brilliant, ruddy 
light of a large fire. This was the one luxury 
which Uncle Isidoro was able to allow himself 
—a good fire—since he collected his wood from 
the fields, the river-banks, and the forests. During 
the winter his chief occupation was weaving cord 
out of horsehair; he knew, in fact, how to do a 
little of almost everything,—spin, sew, cook (when 
there was anything to cook), patch shoes,—and 
yet he had never been able to escape from dire 
poverty. 

Suddenly the door was thrown open; there was 


After the Divorce 187 


a momentary glimpse of the March sky—not 
stormy, but overcast—and Giacobbe Dejas silently 
seated himself beside the fire. 

The fisherman’s kitchen looked like one of those 
pictures of Flemish interiors, where the figures are 
thrown out in a ruddy glow against a dark back- 
ground, By the uncertain light, a grey spider-web 
could be dimly discerned, with the spider in the 
middle; in the corner near the hearth, a glass jug 
filled to the brim with water in which black leeches 
swam about; a yellow basket against the wall; and 
finally the figures of the two men and the black 
hair cord, its loose ends held between the bony, 
red fingers of the old fisherman. 

“ And how goes it now?” asked Giacobbe. 

“How goes it now? How does it go now?” 
repeated the old man. “I don’t know.” 

“Well, it’s been published,” said Giacobbe more 
as though he were talking to himself. ‘ The thing 
is actually done! The drunkard never even came 
near’ the pastures to-day, so I just took myself off 
as well. They may steal his sheep if they want to; 
I don’t care; here I am, and something has got to 
be done, Isidoro Pane! Hi! Isidoro Pane! leave 
that cord alone and listen to me. Some—thing—has 
—got—to—be—done——- Do you hear me?” 

“Yes, I hear you; but what is there to do? We 
have done all we can—implored, expostulated, 
threatened The syndic has interfered, the 
clerk, Priest Elias 7 








188 After the Divorce 


“Oh, Priest Elias! What did he do? Talked 
to them with sugar in his mouth! He should have 
threatened them; he should have said: ‘I'll take 
the Holy Books and I’ll curse you! I’ll excom- 
municate you; you shall never be able to satisfy your 
hunger, nor to quench your thirst, nor to have any 
peace; you shall live in a hell upon earth!’ Ah, 
then you would have seen some result! But no, he 
is a dunce—a warm-milk priest; and he has not 
done his duty. Don’t speak of him to me, it makes 
me angry.” 

Isidoro laid down the cord: “It’s of no use 
to get angry,” said he. “Priest Elias has no 
business with threats, and he has not used them; 
but never fear, excommunication will fall on that 
house all the same! ”’ 

“Well, I am going to leave them; yes, I am 
going away. I'll eat no more of their accursed 
bread! ”’ said Giacobbe with a look expressive of his 
loathing and disgust. ‘‘ But before going, I should 
like to have the pleasure of administering a sound 
thrashing to those favourites of the devil.” 

“You are crazy, little spring bird,’”’ said Isidoro 
with a melancholy smile, imitating Giacobbe. 

“Yes, I am, I’m crazy; but even so, what do you 
care? You haven’t done anything either to stop 
this sacrilege. Oh, it’s disgraceful! I’ve lost all 
my good spirits———” 

“It has made me ten years older.” 

“ All my good spirits, and I keep thinking all the 


After the Divorce 189 


time of what Costantino will say to us for not being 
able to put a stop to it. Is it true that he is ill?” 

“ Not now; he was ill, but now he is only des- 
perate,” said Uncle Isidoro, shaking his head. Then 
he picked up the cord and began plaiting it again, 
murmuring below his breath: “‘ Excommunicate— 
excommunicate——”’ 

“T get so furious that I foam at the mouth— 
the way a dog does,” said Giacobbe, raising his 
voice. “‘ Just exactly like a dog. No, after all, I 
don’t think I'll quit that house; I'll stay there if 
I burst, and see them when the blast of excom- 
munication strikes them. Yes, if there is one thing 
that is sure, it is that God punishes both in this life 
and the other too, and I want to be on hand when 
it comes. What is that that you are making, Uncle 
’Sidoro?” 

“A horsehair cord.” 

There was a short silence; Giacobbe sat staring 
at the cord, his eyes dim with grief and anger. 

“What are you going to do with it when it is 
done?” 

“Sell it, over in Nuoro; I sell them here too 
sometimes ; the peasants use them to tie their cows. 
What makes you look at it like that? You are not 
thinking of hanging yourself, are you?”’ 

“ No, little spring bird, you can do that for your- 
self, if it is God’s will. Yes,” he continued, again 
raising his voice. “‘ They have actually published the 
notice.” 


190 After the Divorce 


Another silence; then Isidoro said: ‘‘ Who 
knows? I can’t help hoping yet that that marriage 
may never come off. I have faith in God, and I 
believe that San Costantino may still perform some 
miracle to stop it.” 

“Why, certainly; why not? A miracle by all 
means!” said Giacobbe scornfully. 

“Yes; why not?” replied Isidoro calmly. ‘ The 
real murderer of Basilio Ledda might die now, 
for instance, and confess. In that case the divorce 
could not hold good.” 

“ Of course, die just at this precise time!”’ said 
the other in the same tone as before. “ You are 
as innocent as a three-year-old child, Isidoro, with 
your Christian faith!” 

“ Well, who knows? Or he might be found out.” 

“Why, to be sure, he might be found out! Just 
in the nick of time! Only what has any one ever 
known about it? And who is to find him out?” 

“Who? Why, you—I—any one.” 

“There you go again! Just like a three-year- 
old child! Or, rather, a snail before it’s out of the 
shell. And how, pray, are we to find him out? 
Are we even certain that Costantino did not do it 
himself ? ” 

“Yes, we are certain, entirely so,’ said Isidoro. 
“It might have been any one of us, but never him. 
I might have done it, or you se 

Giacobbe got up. “ Well, what can you suggest 
to do? If there is anything to be done, tell me.” 





After the Divorce IgI 


“ Any one but him,” repeated Uncle Isidoro, with- 
out raising his head. “ Yes, there is one thing to do, 
—commit ourselves into the hands of God.” 

“Oh, you make me so angry!” cried the other, 
stamping about the forlorn little room like an im- 
prisoned bull. “I ask if there are any steps to be 
taken, and you answer like a fool. Ill go and 
choke Bachissia Era; that will really be something 
to do!’’ And he marched off as he had come, with- 
out greeting or salutation of any kind, angry this 
time in earnest. 

Uncle Isidoro, likewise, did not so much as raise 
his head, but, noticing presently that his visitor had 
left the door open, he got up to close it, and stood 
for some moments looking out. 

It was a mild March night, moonlit but overcast. 
Already one got faint, damp whiffs, suggestive of 
the first stirrings of vegetation. All about the old 
man’s hovel the hedges and wild shrubs seemed to 
lie sleeping in the faint, mysterious light of the 
veiled moon. 

Far away, just above the horizon, a streak of 
clear sky wound and zigzagged its way among the 
vapourous clouds like a deep blue river, on whose 
banks a fire burned. 

Isidoro shut the door, and with a heavy sigh 
resumed his work. 


CHAPTER XI 


T was the vigil of the Assumption, a hot, cloudy 

Wednesday. Aunt Martina sat on the portico 
spinning, while Giovanna, who was pregnant, sifted 
grain near by. Usually two women perform this 
task, but Giovanna was doing it alone. First she 
stirred the grain around in the sieve and extracted 
all bits of stone, then she sifted it carefully into a 
piece of cloth placed in a large basket that stood 
before her. She was seated on the ground, and 
beside her was another basket heaped with grain 
that looked as though it were piled with gold 
dust. 

Instead of growing fat the “ wife with two hus- 
bands,” as she was called in the neighbourhood, had 
become much thinner; her nose was red and some- 
what puffed; there were dark circles around her 
eyes, and her lower lip was drawn down with an 
expression of discontent. 

Some dishevelled-looking roosters, which now and 
again fell to fighting and strewed the floor with 
feathers, were laying siege to the basket; from time 
to time one of them would succeed in thrusting his 
bill inside; then Giovanna, with loud cries and 
threats, would drive him off, but only to stand watch- 


192 


After the Divorce 193 


ful and alert, ready to return to the charge the mo- 
ment her attention wandered. 

Her attention wandered frequently. Her ex- 
pression was sad, or rather, indifferent—that of a 
self-centred person dwelling continually on her in- 
dividual woes. The skies might fall, but she would 
consider only how the event might be expected to 
affect her personally. She was barefoot and quite 
dirty, as Aunt Martina hated to have her soap used. 

The two women worked on in silence, but the 
older one watched her companion out of the corner 
of her eye, and whenever she was slack about driving 
off the chickens, she screamed at them herself. 

At length one, bolder than the rest, jumped on 
the edge of the basket and began greedily pecking 
within. 

“ Ah—h—ah, a—a—ah!” shrieked Aunt Mar- 
tina. Giovanna turned with a sudden movement, 
and the rooster, spreading its wings, flew off, leav- — 
ing a trail of yellow grains behind it, which, in 
dread lest her mother-in-law should scold her (she 
was always in dread of that), she hastily began to 
gather up. 

“What a nuisance they are!” she exclaimed 
peevishly. 

“ Ah, I should say they were, a downright nui- 
sance,”’ said the other mildly. ‘“ No, don’t lean over 
like that, my daughter, you'll hurt yourself; let me 
do it,’ and leaving her spindle she stooped down 
and began to pick up the grains one at a time, while 


194 After the Divorce 


a hen seized the opportunity to pull at the bunch 
of flax on her distaff. 

“Ah! ah, you! Ill wring your neck for you!” 
shrieked Aunt Martina, suddenly turning and espy- 
ing it, and as she drove it off, the others all instantly 
fell to gobbling up the grain. 

The younger woman went on with her task, bend- 
ing over the sieve, silent and abstracted. : 

From the portico could be seen the deserted com- 
mon, Aunt Bachissia’s bare little cottage in the sul- 
try noontide glare, a burning stretch of road, yellow, 
deserted fields, and a horizon like metal. 

The clouds, banked high one upon another, 
seemed to rain heat, and the stillness was almost 
oppressive. A tall, barefooted boy passed by, lead- 
ing a couple of small black cows; then came a young 
woman, likewise barefoot, who stared at Giovanna 
with two round eyes, then a fat white dog with its 
nose to the ground; but that was all; no other in- 
cident broke the monotony of the sultry noontide. 

' Giovanna sifted and stirred ever more and more 
languidly. She was weary; she was hungry, but 
not for food; she was thirsty, but not for drink; 
through her whole physical nature she was conscious 
of a need of something hopelessly lost. 

Her task finished, she leaned over and began 
pouring the grain back from one basket to another. 

“Let it be, let it be,’’ said Aunt Martina solici- 
tously. “ You will do yourself some harm.” 

Giovanna, starting presently to carry the grain 


After the Divorce 195 


to the “mill” (a grind-stone turned by a small 
donkey, which grinds a hundred litres of grain in 
four days), her mother-in-law prevented her and 
took it herself. Left alone, Giovanna went into the 
kitchen, looked cautiously around, and then began 
to search through the cupboards. Nothing any- 
where; not a piece of fruit, no wine, not so much 
as a drop of liquor wherewith to quench the intol- 
erable thirst that tormented her. She did, at last, 
find a little coffee, which she heated, and sweetened 
with a bit of sugar from her pocket, carefully 
re-covering the fire when she had done. 

The mouthful of warm liquid seemed, however, 
the rather to augment her thirst. Giovanna felt that 
what she wanted was some soft, delicious drink, 
something that she had never tasted in all her life 
and—never would. A dull anger took possession 
of her, and her eyes grew bitter. Walking over to 
the door of the storeroom, she shook it, although 
knowing perfectly well that it was locked; her lips 
grew white, and she murmured a curse below her 
breath. Then, barefoot as she was, she went out, 
noiselessly crossed the common, and called her 
mother. 

“ Come in,’”’ answered the latter from the kitchen. 

“T can’t; there’s no one in the house.” 

Aunt Bachissia came and stood in the doorway; 
glancing up at the sky, she remarked that it looked 
threatening, and that there would probably be a 
storm that night. 


196 After the Divorce 


“Well, I don’t care,” said Giovanna sullenly. “ It 
may rain every bolt out of heaven!’ Then she 
added more gently: “ But may that which I bear 
be saved from harm.” 

“Upon my soul, you are in a bad humour. What 
has become of the old witch? I saw you sifting 
grain.” 

“ She has taken it to the ‘ mill.’ She was afraid 
to let me go for fear I might steal some.” 

“ Patience, my daughter; it will not always be 
like this.” 

‘* But it is like this, and like this, and I can’t stand 
it any longer. What sort of a life is it? She has 
honey on her lips and a goad in her hand. ‘ Work, 
work, work.’ She drives me like a beast of burden, 
and gives me barley-bread, and water, and no light 
at night, and bare feet. Oh, as much of all that as 
ever I want!” 

Aunt Bachissia listened, unable to offer any con- 
solation. She was, indeed, accustomed to hear these 
plaints poured into her ears daily. Oh, Aunt Ba- 
chissia had been fooled as well! and had to work 
harder than ever before, though for that she cared 
little; it was Giovanna’s really wretched condition 
that gave her the most concern. 

“Patience, patience; better times are coming; no 
one can rob you of the future.” 

“ Bah, what does that amount to? I shall be 
an old woman by that time,—if I haven’t died al- 
ready of rage! What good will it do to be well 


After the Divorce 197 


off when you’re old? You can’t enjoy anything 
then.” 

“Eh! yes, you can, upon my soul,” said the other, 
her green eyes gleaming like a couple of fireflies. 
“T could enjoy a great many things well enough! 
Eh, eh! To have nothing to do all day long, and 
roast meat to eat, and soft bread, and trout. and 
eels, and to drink white wine, and rosolis, and choco- 
late———” 

“ Stop!” cried Giovanna, with a groan; and she 
told how she had been unable to find anything where- 
with to quench her burning thirst. 

“You must have patience,” repeated the mother. 
“That comes from your condition. If you had the 
most delicious things in the world to choose from— 
liquors from the King’s own table—you would still 
be thirsty.’ 

Giovanna kept gazing up at the house with the 
portico, her eyes weary and hopeless: and her mouth 
drawn down sullenly. 

“Yes, we will have rain to-night,” said the other 
again. 

“It can rain as much as it wants to.” 

“Is Brontu coming home? ” 

“Yes, he is, and I am going to tell him about 
everything to-night; yes, I shall speak to him about 
it this very night.” 

“My soul, you are? And what is it that you 
are going to speak to him about? ” 

“Why, I am going to tell him that I can’t stand 


198 After the Divorce 


it any longer, and if he only wanted me so as to 
have a servant and nothing else, he will find that 
he has made a mistake, and—and———” : 

* You will tell him nothing of the sort!” said the 
old woman energetically. “Let him alone; doesn’t 
he have to work and live like a servant himself? 
What is the use of bothering him? He might send 
you packing, and marry some one else—in church.” 

Giovanna began to tremble violently, her ex- 
pression softened, and her eyes filled. 

“He’s not bad,” she said. “ But he gets tipsy 
all the time, and smells as strong of brandy as a 
still; it makes me sick sometimes. Then he gets 
so angry about nothing at all. Ugh, he’s unbear- 
able! It was better—it was far, far better “ 

“Well,” demanded Aunt Bachissia coldly, “ what 
was better?” 

“ Nothing.” 

This was the kind of thing that went on all the 
time. Giovanna did nothing but brood over memo- 
ries of Costantino; how good he had been, how 
handsome, and clean, and gentle. A deep melan- 
choly possessed her, far more bitter than any sor- 
row one feels for the dead; while her approach- 
ing maternity, instead of bringing consolation, the 
rather increased her despair. 

The afternoon wore on, grey and leaden; not a 
breath of air relieved the suffocating stillness. Gio- 
vanna established herself on the tumble-down wall, 
beneath the almond-tree, and her mother came and 





After the Divorce 199 


sat beside her. For a while neither of them spoke; 
then Giovanna said, as though continuing a con- 
versation that had been interrupted: 

“Yes, it is just the way it used to be at first, 
after the sentence; I dream every night that he has 
come back, and it is curious, but do you know, I 
am never frightened,—though Giacobbe Dejas de- 
clares that if Costantino ever did come back he 
would kill me. I don’t know, but I somehow feel 
in my heart that he is coming back; I never used to 
think so, but I do now. Oh! there is no use in 
looking at me like that. Am I reproaching you 
for anything? I should say not. You would have 
a better right to reproach me. What good has it 
all done you? None at all; you can’t even come 
to see me any more—up there——” She thrust 
out her lip in the direction of the white house. “ My 
mother-in-law is afraid you might carry some dust 
off on your feet! And I can’t give you anything, not 
a thing; do you understand? Not even my work. 
Everything is kept locked up, and I am treated ex- 
actly like a servant.” 

“But I don’t want anything, my heart. Don’t 
make yourself miserable over such trifles. I am not 
in need of anything,’ said Aunt Bachissia very 
gently. “ You must not worry about me; all I care 
about is that money I borrowed from Anna Dejas. 
I don’t see how I am ever to pay her, but she will 
wait.” 

Giovanna reddened angrily, and wrung her hands, 


200 After the Divorce 


exclaiming in a high-pitched voice: ‘‘ Well, anyhow, 
I shall certainly speak to him about that to-night, 
the nasty beast; I am going to tell him that at least 
he might pay for the rags I have on my back. Pay 
for them! Pay for them! May you be shot!” 

“Don’t speak so loud; don’t get so excited, my 
soul. There is no use, I tell you, in losing your 
temper. What good will getting angry do you? 
Suppose he were to turn you out.” 

“Well, he may if he wants to; it would be better 
if he did. At least, I could work for myself then, 
instead of slaving for those accursed people. Ah, 
there she is, coming back,’”’ she added in a lower 
tone as the black-robed figure of Aunt Martina ap- 
peared in the open glare of the common. “ Now, 
I'll get a scolding for leaving the house empty;. 
she’s afraid some one will steal her money. She 
has heaps of it, and she doesn’t even know about 
it; she can’t tell one note from another, nor the coins 
either. She has ten thousand lire,—yes, a thousand 
scudi——”” 

“No, my soul, two thousand.” 

“ Well, two thousand, hidden away. And I am 
not allowed a drop of anything to refresh me, or 
to slake this burning thirst inside me!”’ 

“Tt will all be yours,” said Aunt Bachissia, “ if 
you will only be patient and bide your time. When 
the angels come some day and carry her off to Para- 
dise, it will all belong to you.” 

Giovanna cleared her throat, and rubbed it with 


After the Divorce 201 


one hand; then she resumed hotly: “They may 
drive me out if they want to, it makes no difference 
to me. Listen: the communal clerk says I am 
Brontu’s wife, but it seems to me as though I were 
just living with him in mortal sin. Do you remem- 
ber what sort of a marriage it was? Done secretly, 
in the dark almost; without as much as a dog pres- 
ent; no confections—nothing. And then Giacobbe 
Dejas—choke him!—laughing and yelling out: 
* Here he comes, the beauty!’ and then the ‘ beauty ’ 
came.” 

“Now you listen to me,’”’ said Aunt Bachissia in 
a low penetrating voice. ‘‘ You are simply a fool. 
Upon my word, you always were, and you always 
will be. Why do you give up so? and for such 
trifles too? [I tell you every poor daughter-in-law 
has got to live just as you are living. Your har- 
vest-time will come; only be patient and obedient, 
and you will see it will all come out right. More- 
over, just as soon as the baby is born I believe you 
will find that things are very different.” 

“No, nothing will be different. And then—if 
there were no children—they will only chain me 
faster to that stone that is dragging me down and 
trampling on me. Would you like to know some- 
thing? Well, my real husband is Costantino Ledda, 
and——” 

“And I'll stop your mouth! You are beside 
yourself, my soul; be quiet!” 

“—and if he comes back,’ Giovanna went on, 


202 After the Divorce 


“Til not be able to return to him on account of 
having children.” 

“I will stop your mouth,” repeated Aunt Bachis- 
sia, trembling and rising to her feet with a move- 
ment as though she were about to put her threat into 
execution. There was no need, however, for Gio- 
vanna saw her mother-in-law coming across the com- 
mon and broke off. 

Aunt Martina, spinning as she walked, slowly 
approached the two women. “ Taking the air?” 
she enquired, without raising her eyes from the 
whirling spindle. 

“Fine air! The heat is suffocating. Ah, to- 

night we may get some rain,” replied Aunt Bachis- 
sia. 
. “Tt undoubtedly is going to rain; let us hope 
| there will be no thunder, I am so afraid of thunder. 
The devil empties out his bag of nuts then. I hope 
and trust Brontu will be in before evening. What 
shall we have for supper, Giovanna?” 

* Whatever you like.” 

“Are you going to stay out here? Don’t run 
any risks; it might be bad for you.” 

“What will be bad for me?” 

“Why, the evening air; it is always a little damp. 
It is safer to stay inside; and you might be getting 
supper ready. There are some eggs, my daughter; 
eggs and tomatoes; prepare them for yourself and 
your husband; I am not hungry. Really, do you 
know,” she continued, turning to Aunt Bachissia: 


After the Divorce 203 


“I have no appetite at all these days. Perhaps it is 
the weather.”’ 

“ Perhaps it is the devil perched on your croup, 
and your own stinginess!”’ thought the other. Gio- 
vanna neither spoke nor moved; she seemed com- 
pletely immersed in her own dismal thoughts. 

“The ‘ panegyric’ is to be at eleven to-morrow, 
such an inconvenient hour! Shall you go, Gio- 
vanna? It has always been at ten o’clock in other 
years.” 

“No; I shall not go,” replied Giovanna in a 
dull tone. She was ashamed now to be seen in 
church. 

“Yes, at that time it is apt to be warm; it is just 
as well that you should not go. But it seems to 
be raining,” she added, holding out her hand. A 
big drop fell and spread among the hairs on its 
back. Tic, tic, tic—other great drops came splash- 
ing down, on the motionless almond-tree, and on the 
ground, boring little holes in the sand of the common. 
At the same time the sky appeared to be lightening ; 
there was a vivid gleam, and a great, yellow cloud, 
with markings of a darker shade, sailed slowly 
across the bronze background of the sky. 

The women took refuge in their houses, and im- 
mediately afterwards the rain began to fall in ear- 
nest; a heavy, steady downpour, with neither wind 
nor thunder, but almost frightening in its violence. 
In ten minutes it was all over, but enough had fallen 
to soak the ground. 


204 After the Divorce 


“God! Oh, God! Oh, San Costantino! Oh, 
Holy. Assumption!” moaned Aunt Martina. “If 
Brontu is out in this he’ll be like a drowned chicken,” 
and she studied the heavens anxiously, though never 
for a moment ceasing to spin, while Giovanna began 
to prepare the supper. Listening to the clatter of 
the rain, she, too, felt a vague uneasiness; not, in- 
deed, on her husband’s account, but in dread of 
some unknown, indefinable evil. 

All at once the yellow light that had accompanied 
the downpour melted in the west into a clear, pale 
blue sky; the rain stopped suddenly, the clouds 
opened and parted, skurrying off,—under one an- 
other, on top of one another—like a great crowd of 
people dispersing after a reunion. The light was 
sea-green ; the air was fresh and reviving, filled with 
the odour of damp earth and of dried grass that 
has had a thorough soaking, and with the sound 
of shrill, foolish crowings of roosters mistaking 
this pale, clear twilight for the dawn. Then,— 
silence. Aunt Martina’s black figure, eternally spin- 
ning on the portico, made a dark splotch against 
the green sky. Giovanna was lighting the fire, bend- 
ing over the hearth, when a long, tremulous neigh 
broke on her ears; the tremor in the sound seemed 
to communicate itself to her, and she straightened 
herself up, trembling as well, and looked out. 
Brontu was arriving, and she was frightened— 
what about ? About everything and nothing 
at all. 





After the Divorce 205 


A tiny gleam flashed out from Aunt Bachissia’s 
cottage; by its light the old woman was endeavour- 
ing, with the aid of a rough broom, to sweep out the 
water that had poured over her threshold. The 
sky, beyond the yellow fields, looked like a stretch 
of still, green water; and in the foreground the 
almond-tree, glossy and dripping, dominated every- 
thing around it. Beneath the almond-tree, in the 
last gleam of daylight, Brontu appeared on horse- 
back; horse and rider alike black and steaming, and 
lagging along as though sodden and weighted by 
the deluge that had poured over them. 

The two women came running out to meet him, 
uttering many expressions of horror, possibly a trifle 
exaggerated in tone, but he paid no attention to 
them. | 

“ The devil! the devil! the devil!’’ he muttered, 
drawing his feet heavily out of the stirrups, and 
lifting first one and then the other. “ Go to the devil 
who sent you!—My shoes are water-logged! Why 
don’t you get to work?” he added crossly, march- 
ing off to the kitchen. 

The two women began at once to unload the horse, 
and when Giovanna followed him a little later, he 
at once demanded something to drink, “to dry 
him.” “Change your clothes,” she told him. 

But no, he did not want to change his clothes; 
he only wanted something to. drink,—“ to dry him ”’ 
—he repeated, and grew angry when Giovanna 
would not get it for him. He ended, however, by 


206 After the Divorce 


doing precisely as she said,—changed his clothes, 
took nothing to drink, and, while waiting for supper, 
sat carefully rubbing his wet hair on a towel, and 
combing it out. 

“What a deluge! what a deluge!” he said. “A 
regular sea pouring straight out of heaven. Ah, 
I got my crust well softened this time!” He gave 
a little laugh. ‘“‘ How are you, Giovanna? All 
right, eh? Giacobbe Dejas sent all kinds of mes- 
sages. You act like smoke in his eyes.” 

“You ought to stop his tongue,” said Aunt Mar- 
tina. “ He’s only a dirty serving-man; if you didn’t 
let him take such liberties he would respect you 
more.” 

“I stopped more than his tongue; he wanted me 
to let him come in to-night. ‘No,’ I said; ‘ you'll 
stay where you are, and split.’ He’s coming in to- 
morrow, though.” . 

“To-morrow? and why to-morrow? Ah, my 
son, you let yourself be robbed quite openly; you 
don’t amount to anything!’ 

“Well, after all, to-morrow is the Assumption,” 
said he, raising his voice, and putting the finishing 
touches to his hairdressing. ‘“‘ And Giacobbe is a 
relation, so let it rest. There, Giovanna, see how 
handsome I am!” He smiled at her, showing his 
splendid teeth. 

He did, in truth, look so handsome, and clean, 
and radiant, with his shining locks and fresh colour, 
that Giovanna felt a momentary softening. Pres- 


After the Divorce 207 


ently he began to hum a foolish little song that chil- 
dren sing when it rains: 


‘** Rain! rain! rain 
Ripe grapes, and figs——’” 


And so, they all sat down to the evening meal in 
high good humour and contentment. Aunt Mar- 
tina, excusing herself on the plea of having no ap- 
petite, ate nothing but bread, onions, and cheese; 
articles of diet, however, of which she happened to 
be particularly fond,—but this in no wise interfered 
with the general harmony of the supper. After they 
had finished Brontu asked Giovanna to go out with 
him for a little walk; just to ramble about with no 
particular object, among the paths and deserted 
lanes of the village. 

The sky had completely cleared, a few flickering 
stars glimmered faintly from out its pellucid depths; 
and the air was full of the odour of dead grass and 
wet stones. Quantities of sand and mud had been 
washed over the paths, but Giovanna wore her skirts 
very short, and such heavily nailed shoes that they 
struck against the stones with a sound like metal. 
Brontu took hold of her arm and began to invent 
wonderful pieces of news, as his custom was when 
he wanted to interest her. 

“ Zanchine,” said he, naming one of the men, 
“has found something. What do you suppose it 
is? A baby.” 

* When? ” 


208 After the Divorce 


“Why, to-day, I think. Zanchine was digging 
up a lentisk when he heard a ‘wow, wow’; he 
looked, and there was a baby, only a few days old. 
Well, that wasn’t so wonderful; but now comes 
the queer part. A little cloud suddenly came flying 
through the air, and swooped down on Zanchine 
and seized the baby. It was-an eagle who had evi- 
dently stolen the baby somewhere and hidden it 
among the bushes, and when he saw Zanchine look- 
ing at it, he shot down and At 

“Get out!” said Giovanna. “I don’t believe a 
single word you say.” 

*‘ Make me rich, if it’s not true.” 

“Get out, get out!” said Giovanna again impa- 
tiently, and Brontu, seeing that instead of being 
amused, she was out of humour, asked her if she 
had had a bad dream. She remembered the one 
she had told her mother of, and made no reply. 

In this way they came to the other side of the 
village; that is, to the part where Isidoro Pane lived. 
A spectacle of indescribable loveliness lay spread 
before them. The moon, like a great golden face, 
gazed down from the silver-blue west ; and the black 
earth, the wet trees, the slate-stone houses, the 
clumps of bushes, and the wild stretch of upland— 
everything, as far as the eye could reach, to the 
very utmost confines of the horizon, seemed bathed 
in a tender, half-tearful smile. The two young 
people passed close by the fisherman’s hut ; they could 
hear him singing. Brontu stopped. 





After the Divorce 209 


“Come on,” said Giovanna, dragging him by the 
arm. 

“ Wait a moment; I want to knock on the thing 
he calls his door.” 

“No,” she said, trembling. ‘“‘ Come away, come 
on, I tell you; if you don’t come, I'll leave you 
by yourself.” 

“Oh! yes, that’s true; you and he have had a 
quarrel; I haven’t, though; I’m going to knock on 
his door.” 

“I’m going on, then.” 

“He was singing the lauds of San Costantino,” 
said Brontu, as he rejoined her a few moments later. 
“The one the saint gave him on the river-bank that 
time. That old man is stark mad.” 


CHAPTER XII 


N the following morning at about eleven 

o’clock, the religious services began in the 
church. They were set for this late hour so as to 
allow for the arrival of a young priest from Nuoro, 
a friend of Priest Elias’s, who was to give a “ pane- 
gyric”’ gratis to the people of Orlei. This pane- 
gyric was a great event, and in consequence, by 
ten o'clock the church overflowed with a gaily 
dressed throng of persons. 

The building itself was painted in the most vivid 
colours—pink walls relieved by stripes of bright 
blue; a yellow wooden pulpit; and rows of lusty 
saints with red cheeks and blond hair, simpering 
from their pink niches like so many Teutonic 
worthies. San Costantino, however, the Patron 
Saint, was clad in armour, and his face looked dark 
and stern. This ancient statue was believed to per- 
form miracles, and, according to local tradition, had 
been carved by San Nicodemus himself. 

Through the wide-open door came a flood of sun- 
shine, which, pouring over the congregation, en- 
veloped them in a cloud of golden dust. At the 
other end of the church, where the altar stood, it 
seemed quite dark, notwithstanding the large M of 


210 


After the Divorce 211 


lighted tapers, looking, with their motionless flames, 
like so many arrowheads stuck on shafts of white 
wood. 

Priest Elias was celebrating Mass; and close by 
stood his friend, wearing a lace alb, and with a small, 
dark face like that of a shrewd child; he was singing 
away at the top of his voice, and all wondered to 
hear the little priest sing so loud, knowing that he 
was to preach as well. Most of the people had, 
indeed, come expressly to hear this sermon, and 
were paying scant attention to the Mass, being taken 
up with whispering and staring about them. True, 
the heat was suffocating, and clouds of insects made 
devotion difficult, even for the most pious. At last 
Priest Elias, having finished chanting the gospel, 
turned his pale, ascetic face towards the people, and 
his lips were seen to'move. Just then the figure of 
Giacobbe Dejas appeared in the doorway, silhouet- 
ted against the vivid, blue background of the sky. 
His usual mocking expression was changed to one 
of self-satisfaction. Aware that the priest was 
speaking, he paused on the threshold to listen, hold- 
ing his long black cap in his hand; then, finding 
that he could distinguish nothing, he stepped inside 
and whispered to an old man with a long yellow 
beard, who stood near the door, to know what had 
been said. 

“T don’t know; I couldn’t hear him; they make 
as much racket as if they were out in the square,” 
said the old man querulously. 


212 After the Divorce 


A tall, fresh-complexioned youth, with black hair 
and an aquiline nose, turned and stared at Giacobbe. 
Noting his unusual cleanliness, his new clothes, and 
general air of complacency, he grinned ill-naturedly. 

“I think,” said he, “that Priest Elias said the 
other priest was going to begin the panegyric now.” 

“Did you hear him say it?” asked the old man 
crossly. 

“T didn’t hear him say anything at all,” replied 
the youth. 

Giacobbe worked his way towards the front of 
the church, pushing in and out among the men, 
who turned to look at him as he pressed against 
them. Suddenly a silence fell on the crowd. The 
men all drew back against the walls, and the women 
sat down on the floor. In the centre of the church, 
where a stream of sunshine fell, was a sort of 
wooden bedstead, painted blue, and watched over by 
four little pink-cheeked cherubs, whose green, out- 
stretched wings gave them the appearance of four 
emerald butterflies. On the bed, reposing with closed 
eyes upon brocade cushions, was a tiny Madonna. 
She was dressed entirely in white, with rings, neck- 
laces, and earrings of gold—it was the Assumption. 
The dark, shrewd face of the little priest now ap- 
peared above the edge of the pulpit. Giacobbe re- 
garded him fixedly for a moment, and then turned 
his right ear towards him so as to hear better. 

“‘ People of Orlei, brothers, sisters———”’ said the 
priest in a clear, childish treble—“ asked to preach 


After the Divorce 213 





you a little sermon on this solemn day ” Gia- 
cobbe liked the opening, but finding that he could 
hear very well without paying strict attention, he 
turned and began to observe the people, talking all 
the while to himself, though without losing any of 
the discourse. 

“ There’s Isidoro Pane, the devil take him! if 
he hasn’t got on new clothes too; I wonder if he 
is also thinking of getting married. Eh, eh! That 
fresh-looking fellow down there by the door was 
laughing at me; he saw how happy and prosperous 
I looked, and thought of course that I must be going 
to get married. Well, and what if I am? Is it 
any business of yours, you puppy? Can't I get 
married if I want to? I have a house of my own, 
and cattle too.* 

“Eh, eh! my sister will die without heirs—God 
bless her !—there she is, looking like a pink, shiny, 
little wax doll. Who would ever suppose that she 
is older than I? She wants me to get a wife. 
Well, I am perfectly willing, but whom shall I get? 
I am not so easy to please, and then ’m afraid— 
I’m afraid—I’m afraid. With this new law—the 
devil roast all the lawyers—who in the world is one 
ever to trust? There’s that precious young master 
of mine; there he is at this very minute, with the 

*In Sardinia, farm labourers often own cattle which are 
either turned out with their master’s herds (whose partners 
they thus, in a manner, become), or are confided to some 


other shepherd, who receives half the profits in return for 
looking after them. 


214 After the Divorce 


stamp of mortal sin on him. What is he doing 
here? Why don’t they horsewhip him? Why don’t 
they drive him out like a dog? And his old bird-of- 
prey mother too? The old jade, there she is! Why 
don’t they drive both of them out?” 

“Ah,” he thought presently, “that is true, 
though; if they turned every one out who did wrong, 
the church would soon be empty. But those two 
people, I hate them; Id like to flog them till the 
blood came. I’m not bad, though; didn’t I stay up 
at the folds only to-day, working to repair the ~ 
damage made by yesterday’s storm? Then, when 
I came down, there was Giovanna getting dinner 
all by herself. She was dirty, and ill, and unhappy. 
No holiday for her! The mother and son go off 
together, and she, the maid-servant, stays at home 
and does the work. Well, it serves her right—a 
bad woman! And yet, I do feel sorry for her some- 
times. There, God help me, I do feel sorry for 
her. When I said something ugly to her just now, 
she never answered a word. After all, when you 
come to think of it, she’s the mistress, and I’m the 
servant. But is it my fault if I can’t help pitching 
into you sometimes, little spring bird? I can’t bear 
the sight of you, and all the same I’m sorry for 
you, and that’s the way it is, Now, we must listen 
to what the priest has to tell us. He’s just like 
a sparrow; that’s it, a sparrow singing in its nest.” 

“ Brothers, sisters, beloved ” cried the little 
preacher in the soft Loguedorese dialect, which 





After the Divorce 215 


sounds almost like Spanish, and waving his small 
white hands in the air—‘“ the faith of Our Lady is 
the most ideal, the most sublime of all faiths. She, 
the gentle woman, daughter, wife, and Mother of 
Our Lord, mounted to heaven all radiant and fra- 
grant as a chaplet of roses, and took her seat in 
glory amongst the angels and seraphim——’’ 

“There’s Priest Elias,’ thought Giacobbe, turn- 
ing his little squint-eyes, which shone like metal in 
the bright light, towards the altar. “ Yes, with his 
hands folded together, a boiled-milk priest, who 
can’t preach anything except goodness and forgive- 
ness, and all the time he has the Holy Books, and 
could strike right and left among the people if he 
chose to. Ah, if he had only threatened Giovanna 
Era !. He always looks as if he were in a 
dream, anyhow.” 

“ No one,” continued the little preacher, standing 
erect in the yellow pulpit, “no one has ever been 
able to say that he failed to get anything he asked 
in true faith from Our Most Holy Lady. She, the 
Lily of the Valley, the Mystical Rose of Jeri- 
cho——” 

But the audience was growing weary. The 
women, seated on the floor like beds of ranunculuses 
and poppies, were beginning to stir uneasily, and 
had ceased to listen. The young priest understood, 
and brought his discourse to a close, with a general 
benediction, which included the entire gathering of 
persons who, while ostensibly listening to the word 





216 After the Divorce 


of God, were, for the most part, wholly taken up 
with their own and their neighbours’ affairs. 

Priest Elias, arousing from his dream, resumed 
the celebration of the Mass. He alone, with pos- 
sibly Isidoro Pane, had listened to the sermon, and 
the latter, so soon as the Mass was concluded, began 
to sing the lauds, his clear, sweet voice flowing out 
like a stream of limpid water rippling among rocks 
and flowering moss. 

The young stranger listened with ecstasy to those 
liquid tones; the old fisherman’s venerable figure, 
his long, flowing beard, and gentle eyes, and the 
bone rosary clasped between his knotted fingers, re- 
calling certain pilgrims he had seen in Rome. 

He wanted to meet the old man, and Priest Elias, 
accordingly, stopped him at the church door. Gia- 
cobbe, who was watching, was almost consumed 
with envy at the sight of the fisherman standing in 
friendly conversation with the two priests. 

“What the thunder were they saying to you?” 
he demanded as the other came up. 

“They wanted me to dine with them,” said Isi- 
doro, with some show of importance. 

“Oh! they wanted you to dine with them, did 
they? So, my little spring bird, you are getting 
to be somebody, it seems. Well, you come along 
with me.” 

“To the Dejases’? Not I!” exclaimed Isidoro 
in a tone of horror. 

“No, no; I’m not going to eat with those children 


After the Divorce 217 


of the devil to-day. I’m going home, so come 
along.” 

It was past midday as the two men set off for 
Aunt Anna-Rosa’s house, The sun, pouring down 
on the narrow streets, had dried the mud, and the 
moisture on the trees. In all directions people could 
be seen dispersing to their homes, and the heavy 
tread of the shepherds resounded on the stone pave- 
ments. Children, dressed in their Sunday-best, 
peeped from over tumble-down walls, and through 
open doors glimpses could be caught of dark 
interiors, with here and there a copper sauce- 
pan shining from a wall like some huge medal sus- 
pended there. Thin curls of smoke floated up 
through the clear atmosphere, and the music of a 
mouth-organ, issuing from a usually deserted court- 
yard, sounded as though it were coming from the 
bowels of the earth, where some melancholy old 
Fate was solacing herself. 

The entire village wore an unaccustomed air of 
gaiety, and yet this very festal look, the wide-open 
doors, the wreaths of smoke, the children, so ill 
at ease at their holiday attire, the sound of the 
mouth-organ, the bare, unshaded houses exposed to 
the full glare of the noontide sun—all combined to 
produce an effect of profound melancholy. Gia- 
cobbe led the way to his sister’s house, and they 
all three dined together. The little woman, herself 
widowed and childless, adored her brother, and still 
referred to him as “ my little brother.’ But then 


218 After the Divorce 


she loved all her kind, without distinction, and her 
eyes, slightly crossed, of no colour in particular, and 
as pure and liquid as two tiny lakes illuminated by 
the moon, were as innocent as the eyes of a nursing 
child. She knew that evil existed, but was fright- 
ened merely at the thought of men committing sin. 
One of the great sorrows of her life had been Gio- 
vanna’s divorce and re-marriage—her own foster- 
child, as it were! And to think that she had ac- 
tually lent them the money for the wedding out- 
fit ! 

Giacobbe dearly loved to tease her. 

“Here’s our friend Isidoro,”’ he cried, as the 
party seated themselves at table. “ He is thinking 
of getting married, and has come to consult you.” 

“‘ Bless me, Isidoro Pane, and are you really go- 
ing to be married?” ) 

“Oh! go along, go along,” said the fisherman 
good-humouredly. 3 

“So you don’t care about marrying?” cried Gia- 
 cobbe, holding a piece of roast meat in both hands, 
and tearing it apart with teeth that were still sound 
and strong. ‘‘ Well, you are a dirty beast. Do 
you know, sister, he has lovers, all the same.” 

“T don’t believe that.” 

“It’s true, though; take me to heaven if it’s not. 
Yes, he has lovers who suck his blood.” 

The others laughed like two children at this hu- 
mourous allusion to Isidoro’s leeches. Giacobbe 
began to cut his meat with a sharp knife, holding 





After the Divorce 219 


it between his teeth and left hand, and muttering 
that it was as tough as the devil’s ear, while his 
sister and the guest, having once begun, were ready 
to laugh at everything. -Giacobbe’s mood, how- 
ever, suddenly changed, and for some reason which 
he himself was at a loss to explain, his good spirits 
of a few hours before deserted him. 

“When we have finished, Ill take you to see my 
“palace,” he said. “It will be done in a few days 
now, and if I wanted to I could rent it right 
away, but I don’t want to; I intend to live in it 
myself.” 

“Then you are not going to hire out any more?” 

“No, not after a little while; I have worked 
enough. I have been working for forty years; do 
you take that in? Yes, it’s forty years. No one 
can say I stole the money I have laid away for my 
old age.” 

“And you are going to marry?” 

“Poh! Who is there to marry me? I should 
despise any young woman who was willing to, and 
I won’t have an old one, not I. Take something 
more to drink, Isidoro Pane.” 

“You must want to make me tipsy !—well, as 
it’s a holiday—here’s to the bride and groom! ” 

“What bride and groom?” 

“Giacobbe Dejas and Bachissia Era!” said the 
fisherman, who was waxing merry. 

Giacobbe made a quick movement as though to 
throw himself upon him. 


220 After the Divorce 


“Tl knock out your brains!” he cried, his eyes 
flashing with anger. 

“Ah, you murderer!” laughed the other. 

“Hush, hush! One should not say such things,” 
said Aunt Anna-Rosa. 

Giacobbe drank off a couple of glasses of wine, 
and then laughed in rather a forced way, looking 
sideways at his sister and the fisherman. “ See 
here,” he said suddenly; ‘“‘ why don’t you two get 
married? Isidoro Pane, my sister is rich, and you 
see how fresh she is, just like the hip of a wild 
rose. You'd think she had found some magic herb 
and made an ointment to preserve her skin.” 

“God bless you! How queer you are some- 
times!” exclaimed the little woman. 

“Yes; you two had better marry; I wish it. My 
sister is rich; all my property will go to her, be- 
cause I am going to die first. Somehow, I don’t 
quite know why, but I feel as though I were going 
to die soon; I feel as though I were going to be 
killed ” 

“‘Oh, nonsense! If it happens to-day, it will 
come from drinking too much.” 

“ Dear little brother, what on earth are you talk- 
ing about? In the name of the wretched souls in 
purgatory, don’t say such things,” said his sister, 
greatly distressed. 

* You have no enemies,” said Isidoro. ‘‘ And 
besides, only those perish by the sword who have 
used the sword.” 





After the Divorce 221 


“Well, I have slaughtered many and many an 
innocent, unoffending fellow-creature,” replied Gia- 
cobbe seriously, burying his mouth in a slice of wa- 
termelon. ‘‘ You don’t believe me? Sheep and 
lambs without number!” and he lifted his face, 
streaming with the pink juice, and laughed. 

Dinner over, the two men went off to look at 
the new house. 

Its two stories—the ground-floor and one above 
it—were divided into four large bedrooms, a kitchen, 
and a stable; these accommodations being deemed 
sufficient to earn for it the title of “ palace,” not 
-alone from Giacobbe, but from the entire neigh- 
bourhood as well. 

“Do you see this? Have you noticed that?” 
Giacobbe kept calling out, drawing attention to 
every detail and corner of his property; his clean- 
shaven face, devoid even of eyebrows, growing, 
meanwhile, almost youthful in its enthusiasm. 

“You had better marry my sister,” he said pres- 
ently. “ This house will be hers some day.” 

“You are making fun of me,” replied the other, 
“Because I am poor, you think you can laugh at 
me as much as you like.” 

The wooden floors filled the simple soul with 
awe, and he hardly dared to walk on them. Gia- 
cobbe, on the contrary, seemed to enjoy stamping 
about in his great hobnailed boots, and making as 
much noise as he could in the big, empty rooms, all 
redolent of fresh plaster. 


222 After the Divorce 


The two men paused for a moment at an open 
window, whose stone sill, baked by the sun, felt hot 
to the touch. The house stood high, and below 
them, in black shadow, lay the village, looking like 
a heap of charcoal beneath the green veil of trees. 
All about stretched the yellow plain, and, beyond, . 
the great violet-grey sphinxes reared themselves 
against a cloudless sky. The bell of the little church, 
clamouring insistently, broke in on the noontide 
heat and stillness, and the sound was like metal 
striking against stone, as though far off, in the rocky 
heart of those huge sphinxes, a drowsy giant were 
wielding his pick. “ Why don’t you want to marry 
my sister?” said Giacobbe again. “This house 
will belong to her, and this will be her bedroom; 
here at this very window you could smoke your 
pipe——” 

“I never smoke; do let me be,” said the fisher- 
man impatiently. The other’s talk began to annoy 
him. 

“I’m not joking, you old lizard,” retorted Gia- 
cobbe. ‘‘ Only you are such a dull beggar that you 
can’t even tell that I’m not.” 

“ Listen,” said Isidoro. “ You have given me my 
dinner to-day, and so you think you have a right 
to make game of me. Now, I tell you this, if you 
want me to be grateful for it, you had better leave 
me alone.” 

Giacobbe stared at him for a moment; then he 
burst into a loud laugh. 


After the Divorce 223 


“Come on,” he cried; “let’s have something to 
drink.” | 

They went out, and Giacobbe led the way to the 
tavern, but the other refused to enter, saying that 
it was time for him to be getting back to the 
church. 

In the tavern Giacobbe found Brontu and a num 
ber of others playing morra, their arms flung out 
in tense attitudes, and all shouting the numbers at 
the tops of their lungs. 

Before five o’clock, the hour set for the proces- 
sion, they were all quite tipsy, Giacobbe more so 
than any one: notwithstanding which fact he in- 
sisted upon grasping his master by the arm, being 
firmly under the impression that without his aid, 
the other would not be able to walk. He then in- 
vited the whole company to adjourn to his “ palace ” 
to view the procession. A little later, accordingly, 
the big, empty rooms echoed to the sound of hoarse 
voices, bursts of aimless laughter, and uncertain 
footsteps. The windows were all thrown wide 
open, and quickly filled with wild, bearded faces. 

Giacobbe and Brontu were standing at the same 
window where the old fisherman had been shortly 
before. By this time the sun had left it, but the 
sill was still warm, while below them and beyond, 
the village, and the plain, and the mountains 
were striped with long bars of ever lengthening 
shadows. 

“Cu, cu!” shouted Brontu, staring out with 


224 After the Divorce 


round eyes. This was so intensely humourous that 
the others all began imitating him, each one making 
as much noise as possible. The house resounded 
with the uproar; a crowd gathered in the street be- 
low, and presently the drunkards within and those 
without began to exchange abusive epithets, followed 
by spitting and stone-throwing. 

On a sudden, however, complete silence fell; a 
sound of low, mournful chanting was heard ap- 
proaching, and immediately after a double line of 
white, phantom-like figures appeared at the end of 
the street, preceded by a silver cross held aloft 
against the blue background of the sky. The men 
in the street fell back against the walls, the heads 
at the windows were lowered, and every one un- 
covered. 

One of the white-robed brotherhood, boys for the 
most part who, when the ceremonies were over, 
would receive three soldi each and a slice of water- 
melon, knocked at the door of the new house as he 
passed, and the others followed his example. 

“Curse you!” yelled Giacobbe furiously, leaning 
far out of the window. “ Boors! walking in the 
procession, are you?” and he was about to spit on 
them, but Brontu prevented him, telling him it 
would not do. 

Now came the green brocade standard, with its 
hundred variegated ribbons and gilded staff; and 
next the Madonna of the Assumption, extended with 
closed eyes on her portable couch, covered with 


After the Divorce 225 


necklaces and rings that looked like relics of the 
bronze age, and watched over by the four green 
cherubs. 

On each of the four sides, walking beside the 
bearers, was a man wearing a white tunic and car- 
rying in his arms a child dressed as an angel. 
They were charming little creatures, two blond 
and two brunette, and they chattered gaily with 
one another, shouting to make themselves heard. 
One of them, tickled under the knee by the man 
who carried him, squirmed and wriggled, one wing 
hanging limply down. 

The sight of these children touched some finer 
emotion in Brontu, Giacobbe, and the others, and 
bending their knees, they crossed themselves de- 
voutly. The children, for their part, gazed up at 
the windows, and one of them, recognising an uncle 
in the group, flung a red confetto at him, which, 
missing fire, fell back into the road. 

Priest Elias and the little stranger from Nuoro 
came next, wearing brocade and lace robes, pale 
and handsome in their bravery. They walked with 
clasped hands and rapt faces, chanting in Latin. 

“The devil! ”’ exclaimed Giacobbe suddenly. “If 
there isn’t that dirty old Isidoro Pane! You'd 
suppose he was running the whole procession; I’m 
going to spit on him.” 

“No, you’re not,” commanded Brontu. 

Giacobbe coughed to attract the fisherman’s atten- 
tion, but the other did not so much as raise his eyes, 


226 After the Divorce 


continuing to intone the prayers to which the people 
responded as with a single voice. 

The surging, vari-coloured crowd had flowed to- 
gether behind the procession, and above the sea of 
heads could still be seen the swaying silver cross. 
The men had all uncovered,—bald heads, shining 
with perspiration, mops of thick black hair, rough, 
curly pates,—and then the gay head-kerchiefs of the 
women, some with black grounds and yellow 
squares, others striped with red, or covered with 
green spots,—all surmounting flushed faces, flashing 
eyes, white bodices crossed on the breast, red, gestic- 
ulating hands. Gradually the crowd thinned; an old 
cripple came limping along, then a woman with two 
children hanging to her skirts, then three old women 
—a child with a yellow flower in its mouth—the 
street grew empty and silent; the noise, and move- 
ment, and colour receding in waves, and growing 
ever fainter as the low, melancholy cadence of the 
chanted invocations died away in the distance. 

As the last sounds ceased, two cat’s paws appeared 
on the wall opposite Giacobbe’s house, followed by 
a little, white face, with wide startled eyes, then 
the animal leaped on the wall, and sat staring in- 
tently down into the street. 

“Too late!” cried Brontu, waving a salute. 

The others shouted with laughter, and when Gia- 
cobbe presently told them it was time to be off, 
they refused to go. The host, thereupon, seizing 
a lath covered with plaster, tried to drive them 


After the Divorce 227 


out, and the entire troop of rough, bearded men 
began to run from room to room, pushing. one 
another by the shoulders, yelling, tumbling over 
each other, and shrieking with laughter like so 
many schoolboys. Driven forth at length, they 
continued their horseplay in the street, until Gia- 
cobbe, having locked the door and put the key in 
his pocket, led the way back to the tavern. At 
dusk Brontu and the herdsman, supporting one an- 
other, appeared at the white house. 

Aunt Martina was sitting on the portico with 
her hands beneath her apron, reciting the rosary. 
When her eyes fell on the two men she remained 
perfectly still and silent, but her lips tightened, and 
she shook her head ever so slightly, as though to 
say: “ Truly, a fine sight!” 

“Where is Giovanna?” demanded Brontu. 

“She went to her mother’s.” 

“Oh! she went to her mother’s, the old harpy’s? 
Well, she’s always going there, curse her.” 

“Don’t shout so, my son.” 

“T will; I’ll shout as much as I like; I’m in 
my own house,” and turning towards the common, 
he began to call at the top of his voice: 

“ Giovanna! Giovanna!” 

Giovanna appeared at the door of the cottage, 
and started to cross the common hastily with an 
alarmed air; as she drew near, however, her ex- 
pression changed to one of annoyance and disgust. 
Pausing in front of the two men, she regarded them 


228 After the Divorce 


with a look of undisguised scorn. Giacobbe laughed, 
but Brontu reddened to the tips of his ears with 
anger. 

“Well,” she demanded; “ what is the matter? 
Have you got the colic?” 

“He would have got it pretty soon if you hadn’t 
come,” said Giacobbe. 

Brontu opened his mouth and his lips moved, but 
_ no sounds came forth, and his anger presently died 
away as senselessly as it had come. _- 

“Well ” he stammered. “I wanted you. We 
have hardly seen each other all day. What were 
you doing at your mother’s? Who was there? ” 

“Who was there?” she repeated, in a tone of 
intense bitterness. ‘‘ Why, no one. Who would 
you expect to find at our house?” 

“Why, San Costantino might come—t—o—o—¢i 
—i—i—ve you—u a po—em——” sang Giacobbe 
thickly. ‘Have you ever seen San Costantino? 
Well, there’s Isidoro Pane—he’s perfectly crazy—he 
doesn’t like you; no, indeed, he doesn’t, and— 
and——”” 

“Shut up; hold your tongue!” said Aunt Mar- 
tina. “ And the sheepfolds left all this time to take 
care of themselves! That’s the way you attend to 
your master’s business! You're all alike, accursed 
thieves! ”’ 

Giacobbe sprang forward, erect and livid; and 
Giovanna, fearing that he was really going to strike 
the old woman, stepped quickly between them. He 





After the Divorce 229 


turned, however, without saying a word, and sat 
down, but with so lowering an expression that 
Giovanna remained near her mother-in-law in an 
attitude of protection. 

Brontu, on the contrary, was struck with the 
idea that his mother deserved a rebuke. 

“What sort of manners are these?” he de- 
manded in a tone that was intended to be severe. 
“Why, you treat people as though—as though— 
as though they were beasts—everybody! To-day— 
to-day—no, yesterday was a holiday. If he chose 
to get drunk, what business was that of yours?” 

“T got drunk on poison,” remarked Giacobbe. 

“Yes, poison,’ agreed Brontu. “ And I did too. 
And there’s another thing. I’m tired of all this, 
mother and wife—and the whole business. So 
there! I’m going away. I’m going to spend the 
night with him in his palace. After all, we are 
relations, and—and # 

“Say it right out!’’ shouted Giacobbe. “ You 
_ may be my heir; that’s what you mean! Ha, ha, 
ha!” 

He laughed boisterously, emitting sounds that 
were more like the howls of a wild beast than human 
laughter. Brontu, trying to imitate him, only suc- 
ceeded in producing a noise like the cry of some 
happy animal in the springtime. 

Giovanna felt herself grow sick with dread; she 
was afraid of the rapidly approaching darkness, of 
the solitude that enwrapped the common, of the 





2.30 After the Divorce 


presence of these two men whom wine had turned 
into quarrelsome beasts. “ The excommunication,” 
she thought, “has fallen on us all: on this servant, 
who dares to defy his master; on the son, who up- 
braids his mother ; on me, Giovanna, who loathe and 
despise them one and all!” 

Aunt Martina arose, went into the kitchen, and lit 
the candle. Giovanna followed her and set about pre- 
paring the supper. When it was ready they all sat 
down together, and for a little while everything went 
well. Presently Brontu began to tell of how they had 
watched the procession from the windows of Gia- 
cobbe’s “ palace,’’ his account of their foolish doings 
bringing a smile to his mother’s lips. Then he tried 
to put his arm around his wife, but Giovanna’s heart 
was full of gall. For her the holiday had been, if 
anything, sadder than an ordinary day; she had 
worked hard, she had not been to church, she had not 
so much as changed her dress; and yet, the moment 
she had allowed herself to go for a little recreation 
to the cottage,—the scene alike of her greatest 
misery and of her most intense happiness,—she had - 
been ordered back as peremptorily as a dog is told 
to return to its kennel. Consequently, she was in 
no mood for endearments, and repulsed Brontu’s 
proffered caress, telling him he was drunk. 

Giacobbe, thereupon, laughed delightedly, which 
irritated Giovanna as much as it angered Brontu. 

“What are you laughing at, you mangy cur?” 
demanded the latter. | 


After the Divorce 231 


“T might say I am not as mangy as you are 
yourself. But then, I—I want to say that—that— 
well, ’'m laughing because I choose to.” 

“Eh! I can laugh too.” 

“Fools!” said Giovanna scornfully. “You 
make me sick, both of you.” 

At this Brontu, quite beside himself, suddenly 
turned on her: 

“What is the matter with you, anyhow?” he 
demanded in a hard voice. ‘One would really like 
to know. Here you are, living on me, and when 
I offer to kiss you you fly out at me. You ought 
to be thankful to kiss the very ground under my 
feet; do you hear me?” 

Giovanna grew livid. ‘ What!” she _ hissed. 
“Am I treated any better than a servant in this 
house? ” 

“Well, a servant; all right, you can just stay 
one. What else should you be, woman? ” 

Giacobbe’s squint-eyes sparkled at this, but Gio- 
vanna, rising to her feet, proceeded to pour out 
all the concentrated bitterness of the past months. 
Addressing her husband and mother-in-law, she 
called them slave-drivers and tyrants; threatened 
to go away, to kill herself; cursed the hour she had 
entered that house, and, in the transport of her 
rage, even revealed the debt to Giacobbe’s sister. 

At this, the herdsman fell to laughing softly to 
himself, murmuring words of half-mocking re- 
proach addressed to Aunt Anna-Rosa. On a sud- 


232 After the Divorce 


den, however, his face grew black; the sombre figure 
of Aunt Bachissia appeared in the doorway; she 
had heard her daughter’s angry voice resounding 
through the stillness of the evening, and had come 
at once. : 

“ Here,” said Aunt Martina, perfectly unmoved, 
“is your daughter, gone mad to all appearances.” 

Brontu, completely sobered, was signing urgently 
to his mother-in-law to come forward and try to 
calm the furious woman, and Aunt Bachissia was 
about to do so when Giacobbe suddenly leaped to 
his feet and threw himself in front of her with an 
ugly scowl. 

“Get out of here!” he ordered, pointing to the 
door. 

“ And are you the master? ”’ asked Aunt Bachissia 
ironically. 

“Get out, I tell you,’ he repeated, and, as she 
continued to advance, he laid hold of her. 

She shook him off, and he went out himself in- 
stead, and, sitting down on the portico, tried to 
laugh; but, odd to relate, instead of laughter, he 
presently found himself shaking all over with dry, 
convulsive sobs. 


CHAPTER XIII 


IME passed on. The sky and weather 
changed with the changing seasons, but 
among the inhabitants of the little village all re- 
mained much as usual, In the course of the winter 
Giovanna gave birth to a weak, puling girl-baby, 
which did nothing but cry. Doctor Porra, or Pe- 
dedda, as he still continued to be called, came all the 
way from Nuoro expressly to stand for the poor 
little creature. He arrived in a carriage, bundled 
up like a bale of clothing, his rosy face beaming 
as usual, Quite a number of persons had assembled 
to see him, and he distributed smiles and greetings 
indiscriminately to all who would have them, as- 
suring a group of Brontu’s friends who had gone 
to meet him, that he remembered perfectly seeing 
all of them at Nuoro. This gratified them im- 
mensely, all but one, that is, who said he had never 
been to Nuoro. “It is of no consequence,” said 
the lawyer cheerfully, “I am sure to see you there 
some day.” This was a somewhat equivocal as- 
surance, as it seldom happened that any of them 
went to Nuoro except on law business; however, 
the man was highly pleased. 
Aunt Bachissia, watching the new arrival divest 


233 


234 After the Divorce 


himself of his greatcoat, shawl, and various other 
wraps, thought that he looked more than ever like 
a magia. | 

“You seem to have grown stouter,” she said, 
looking at the layers of clothing. 

“Oh! this is a mere nothing,” he replied. At 
which they all laughed delightedly. 

The baptism was to be conducted with great 
pomp, and Aunt Martina, probably for the first 
time in her life, slackened the strings of her purse, 
and sent to Nuoro for wines and sweets of the 
best quality. She could not sleep the night before, 
however, and passed a wretched day, tormented by 
the fear that some of the delicacies might be spir- 
ited away. On the morning of the ceremony Gio- 
vanna got up early and helped her mother-in-law 
to prepare the macaroni for dinner; then she went 
back to bed, where she remained in a sitting pos- 
ture, propped up by pillows, and with the bedclothes 
drawn up about her waist. Above that she wore 
her blouse and bodice, and she had on her wedding 
coif and bridal kerchief. She looked somewhat pale, 
but very handsome, her great eyes seeming larger 
even than usual. ! 

The table was set in the bedchamber, and cov- 
ered with a linen cloth, which Aunt Martina now 
took out from her chest for the first time since it had 
been bought. 

The ceremony was to take place at about eleven 
o'clock of a very cold morning. From the pale 


After the Divorce 235 


sky a thick, white vapour fell, enveloping the village 
and all the surrounding country in a misty veil. 
The narrow streets were deserted, and here and 
there frozen puddles lay like pieces of broken, dirty 
glass. An absolute silence reigned in the open 
space before the Dejases’ house, opposite which the 
almond tree stretched its bare, black limbs against 
the misty background. 

All at once the common was invaded by a troop 
of urchins, bundled up in ragged garments and 
odds and ends of fur; with fringed, red caps on 
their heads, and wearing old boots, some of them 
almost as large as the little persons who wore them. 
Groups of people stood about, principally shivering 
women, coughing and sneezing and smelling of 
soot and smoke. Then the baptismal procession 
appeared. First came two children looking solemn — 
and important, and carrying candles from which 
red ribbons fluttered; these were followed by the 
woman with the infant wrapped in shawls, and 
covered with a piece of greenish brocade, like the 
standard of San Costantino. 

Then the godfather appeared, his round little face 
rosy and smiling as ever, emerging from the folds 
of his big coat and black-and-white shawl. With 
him walked the godmother, one of Aunt Martina’s 
daughters, a lank young woman with a long, narrow 
face, who reminded one of a shadow seen at sunset. 
She had to lean down in order to reach her com- 
panion’s ear. With the godparents came Brontu, 


236 After the Divorce 


freshly shaven and gay, and behind them followed 
a group of friends and relatives, marching along in 
step, with a noise like the tramp of horses’ hoofs. 
Last of all came the godmother’s servant-maid, a 
shivering creature blue with cold; she carried a 
small basin under one arm, and kept both hands 
buried in the pockets of her gown. From time to 
time she thrust out her tongue to catch the drops 
that kept running down from her nose. The boys 
trotted alongside, forming two wings to the proces- 
sion, their eyes eagerly fixed upon the godfather, 
who returned their gaze with an amused stare and 
hailed them jocosely : 

“Why, hello! you here? What are you looking 
for, little hedgehogs?” 

“ He’s lame,” said one. 

“Hush, keep quiet, or he won’t give us any- 
thing! ” 

The procession passed on; the faces of the ur- 
chins fell; some of them were angry, and others 
seemed on the verge of tears. 

“ Crippl—_—’”’ one began to call, but stopped sud- 
denly. The godfather had pitched a handful of 
copper coins into the air, and the whole troop 
flung themselves after them, yelling, tumbling over 
one another, pushing, fighting, struggling, rolling 
over and over, almost upsetting the maid-servant, 
who instantly began to deal out blows and curses 
in greater proportion even than the coins them- — 
selves. Fresh handfuls of money and renewed 


After the Divorce 239 


scuffling by an ever-increasing crowd of ragamuffins 
continued to the very doors of the church, where 
Priest Elias stood awaiting the party and listening 
to something the red-robed sacristan was urging 
upon him. The sacristan was, in fact, afraid that 
Priest Elias, with his usual kindly indulgence, might 
be persuaded to return to the house with the bap- 
tismal party, whereas it was the custom of the neigh- 
bourhood for the priest to do that only in cases 
where the parents had been united by religious cere- 
mony: he was, therefore, exhorting the other to 
practise severity with Brontu, with the godparents, 
with the whole company in fact. ‘“ Your Honour,” 
said he, “will surely not return to the house with 
this infant? Why, it is almost illegitimate! On no 
account should such respect be paid to it.” 

“Go and see if they are coming,” said the priest. 

“They are not in sight yet. No, your Honour 
will not go.” 

“And how about you? Shall you not go?” en- 
quired the priest with a slight smile. 

“Oh! with me it is an altogether different matter ; 
I go on account of the sweetmeats, not to do honour 
to that rabble.” 

At this moment the company came in sight, and 
the ceremony presently began. No sooner had the 
baby’s bald little red head been uncovered than 
it began to emit sounds like the bleating of a hoarse 
kid. The godfather stood by smiling, with a lighted 
taper in his hand, doing his best to remember the 


238 After the Divorce 


creed, Giovanna having implored him to recite it 
conscientiously, so that the baptism might be valid. 

Almost the entire crowd of urchins had followed 
the party inside the church, and there was a patter- 
ing like rats running about, as the sacristan would 
chase them all out, only presently to come stealing 
back. 

The woman who had carried the baby, and the 
maid-servant with the basin, seated themselves on 
the steps of a side altar, where they anxiously 
awaited the godfather’s present. At last the ser- 
vice was over, the tips had been given, the baby 
wrapped up again, and Brontu and his friends 
stood waiting awkwardly for the priest, who had 
gone into the sacristy to remove his robes. Would 
he come back or not? Was he going to the house 
with the newly baptised infant or no? There was 
an uncomfortable pause, and then, as he did not 
appear, the procession set out somewhat mourn- 
fully on the return journey, followed by the tri- 
umphant sacristan, to whom Brontu would dearly 
have liked to administer blows in place of the ex- 
pected sweets. 

All along the route the people came out to see them 
go by, and many faces, especially those of the 
women, lighted up with ill-natured smiles as they 
perceived that the priest was not there. Poh! It 
was like the baptism of a bastard! 

Giovanna, albeit not really expecting the priest, 
grew a shade paler when the company invaded her 


After the Divorce 239 


chamber without him. She kissed the little purple 
creature sadly, feeling as though the outlook for 
the poor child was very dark indeed. 

“I remembered every word of the creed from 
beginning to end,’ announced the godfather. 
“Happy mother, your child will be a wonder, as 
tall as its godmother and as gay as its godfather! ”’ 

“Tf only it may be as prosperous as its god- 
father,” murmured Giovanna. 

“ And now,” cried the young man, joyously clap- 
ping his hands, ‘come to dinner. What a pleas- 
ant custom it is! Upon my honour, it is a charming 
custom!” And he clapped his hands again, as 
though calling a crowd of children. 

They all took their places at table, where the 
macaroni, which had already been served, was to 
be followed. by a beautiful roast pig exhaling an 
odour of rosemary. 


It was only a few days after the baptism that a 
strange though not unprecedented event occurred 
in Orlei. 

Near Isidoro Pane’s hut was an ancient dung- 
heap, abandoned for so long that it had become 
almost petrified. It was covered with a growth of 
sickly-looking vegetation, and emitted no odour, 
looking like some sort of artificial mound. 

One evening at about dusk, while the fisherman 
was preparing his supper, he heard sounds in the 
direction of this mound, and went to the door to 


240 After the Divorce 


see what they were. The weather was cold, and 
in the clear, greenish twilight he saw a group of 
black figures, chiefly women, advancing, singing to 
the accompaniment of some instrument. 

Isidoro understood what it was and went to 
meet them. The women, about twenty in all, old 
and young, were chanting in a melancholy mono- » 
tone, with sudden breaks and changes, a weird song 
or exorcism against the bite of a tarantula; while 
a blind beggar, a pallid young man, miserably clad 
in soiled and ragged woman’s clothing, accom- 
panied them on a primitive instrument called a 
serraia—a sort of cithern, made out of a dried 
sow’s bladder. 

There were only three other men in the party, 
and in one of these, with a flushed, feverish face, 
and one hand bound up, the fisherman recognised 
Giacobbe Dejas. 

Isidoro advanced, and joining the party laid one 
finger on the bandaged hand, Giacobbe, meanwhile, 
gazing at him wildly, his eyes transfixed with terror. 

“Are you afraid you are going to die from a 
tarantula bite? No, no,” said Isidoro, smiling. 

The women continued their chant. There were 
seven widows, seven wives, and seven maids. One 
of the widows was Giacobbe’s sister. She walked 
at his side, fresh and pink as ever, notwithstanding 
her wild state of alarm and anxiety; and her shrill 
little voice, like the note of a lively cricket, trilled 
and trembled high above all the others. 


After the Divorce 241 


“He is suffering,’ said one of the men to Isi- 
doro in a low tone. 

“ Ah?” said the fisherman gravely. 

The words chanted by the women ran as fol- 
lows: 


‘* Saint Peter he walked down to the sea 
And into the water his keys dropped he. 
Then the Lord unto him did say : 
‘ My Peter, what is it ails thee to-day ?’ 
‘ Of deadly bites I bear the smart 
In my two feet, and my back, and my heart.’ 
‘Peter, take of the sad thorn-tree * 
Pounded as fine as fine may be ; 
Take it three days for thy wound, 
So shall Peter be made sound.’ 
Tarantula, with the painted belly, 
You have a daughter straitly born, 
Straitly is your daughter born. 
One for the mountain I leave forlorn; 
One for the mountain, and one for the valley. 
You have killed me, and I will kill you.” 


Meanwhile the group had stopped in front of 
the mound. The two men, who were provided with 
spades, began to dig, and Isidoro stood waiting with 
Giacobbe, the chanting women, and the blind man 
still playing on his strange instrument. Giacobbe 
silently watched the operations of his two friends, 
and Isidoro watched him, puzzled by the transfor- 
mation he had undergone; he seemed, indeed, like 


*Ispana trista or santa, from which, according to tradi- 
tion, the crown of thorns was made. The people use the 
leaves of this tree for medicinal purposes, 


242 After the Divorce 


an altogether different person; his face was in- 
flamed, and drawn with fright, and the little eyes, 
which usually twinkled so shrewdly from beneath 
their bald brows, were dim with a childish terror 
of death. 

When they had come to the end of the chant, the - 
women began again at the first line, the instru- 
ment continuing the accompaniment on the same 
monotonous key as before. It sounded like the 
humming of a swarm of bees in flight. Puffs of 
icy wind blew from the west, cutting the faces of 
the group gathered about the mound, like knives. 
The purple-blue of the sky was fading into a green- 
ish tint, like the face of a lake when the sun has 
left it; and over the entire scene there hung a pall 
of indescribable melancholy—the dull, cold twi- 
light, the darkening uplands, the black village, the 
shadowy group of people, performing a supersti- 
tious rite with all the faith of heathen idolaters.* 

The two men dug with friendly zeal, throwing 
up spadefuls of black earth mixed with rags, egg- 
shells, and refuse of all kinds. As it covered their 

* The custom of burying a person bitten by a tarantula ina 
dunghill, and putting him in an oven, is not so unreasonable 
as it at first appears, the effect of the poison being neutral- 
ised if the sufferer can be made to perspire freely; while the 
sickening odours of the dunghill induce nausea, also supposed 
to be very beneficial. Now, however, the people completely 
ignoring these practical results, the ceremony has come to be 
an act of pure superstition. The account given above de- 


scribes such scenes as they have actually been known to 
occur, 


After the Divorce 243 


feet and legs, they would mount higher, bending to 
their task, panting and sweating, while the women 
continued their chant, and the blind man his mo- 
notonous accompaniment. 

A hole of sufficient depth having at last ht dug, 
Aunt Anna-Rosa, never ceasing for an instant to 
emit the same shrill, mournful sounds, helped Gia- 
cobbe to remove his coat, and then, taking him by 
the hand, they led him to the edge of the excava- 
tion. He jumped in at a bound, and the two men, 
pushing him down with their hands, hastily piled 
on the earth, until he was buried up to the neck. 

The performance that then took place was even 
more extraordinary. The head, looking as though 
it had been severed from the body and stuck in 
the centre of this heap of refuse, was surrounded 
by sparse vegetation, which trembled in the breeze 
as though affrighted; while overhead hung the 
melancholy sky. Hardly had the two men com- 
pleted their task, and stood,—the one wiping the 
perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve, and 
the other knocking off the dirt that was sticking 
to his hands,—when the women closed in a circle 
around the head, and began to dance to the sound 
of their own chanting voices and the instrument 
still played by the blind man, who stood with his 
sightless balls and pale, impassive face turned to- 
wards the distant horizon. This continued for some 
time; then the dancing ceased, the circle broke, but 
the chanting still went on. Isidoro and the other 


244 After the Divorce 


men threw themselves on the mound, and with 
spades and hands, had soon disinterred Giacobbe. 
He was perspiring profusely when he emerged, cov- 
ered with dirt, and his face and neck were purple. 
He said he had felt as though he would suffocate; 
then he shook himself and thrust first one arm and 
then the other into the sleeves of the coat which 
his sister held ready. 

“Well, so you are not going to die after all, 
little spring bird?” said Isidoro jokingly. The 
other, however, made no reply; the cold wind struck 
his perspiring body with an icy chill, his face grew 
pallid, and his teeth chattered. 

They walked off in the direction of Aunt Anna- 
Rosa’s house, Isidoro, who by this time had lost 
all interest in his supper, accompanying them. 

“ Did you kill it?’ he enquired of the sick man, 
remembering to have heard that if one kills a taran- 
tula with his ring finger he acquires the power to 
cure the bite with a simple touch of the same 
finger. 

“No,” said Giacobbe; and-then, while the weird 
chanting still continued, he gave an account of his 
misfortune. 

“I was asleep; suddenly I felt something like the 
sting of a wasp. I woke up all in a perspiration. 
Ah, it had stung me! It had stung me! The hor- 
rible tarantula! I saw it as plain as I see you, but 
it was some distance off, on the wall. Ah, the devil 
take you, accursed creature! So I came right home. 


After the Divorce 245 


Do you know, I am afraid to die; I’ve been afraid 
for ever so long.” 

* But we all have to die some time, whenever the 
hour comes,” said Isidoro seriously. 

“Yes, that is true; we all have to some time,” 
agreed one of the men; “ but that is poor consola- 
tion for Giacobbe Dejas.” 

“‘ My legs feel as though they had been broken,” 
he groaned. “And oh, my spine! it is just as 
though some one had struck it with an axe! I am 
going to die; I know I am going to die iy 

As they passed along, the people came out of their 
houses to watch them go by, but it was like a fu- 
neral procession; no one spoke, nor did any one 
follow them. Giacobbe’s eyes grew dim, and pres- 
ently he stumbled and clutched hold of Isidoro for 
support. 

The women were moving along on a trot, like a 
herd of colts; their voices rose, fell, rose again, and 
seemed to die away into the chill night air, over- 
powered at last by the even, strident notes of the 
cithern, like the gasps of some wounded animal left 
to die alone in the forest. 

At last they reached the little widow’s house. A 
fire was burning in the slate-stone fireplace in the 
centre of the kitchen, laid on a little heap of live coals 
which had just been taken out of the oven. This 
last, a huge, round affair having a hole in the top 
to allow the smoke to escape, occupied one corner, 
its square door being quite large enough to allow 





246 After the Divorce 


of the passage of a man’s body. Into its still hot 
interior Giacobbe accordingly now crept, the soles 
of his heavy shoes appearing in the opening, their 
worn nails shining in the firelight. 

Placing themselves around the oven and the fire- 
place, the women continued their exorcism with re- 
newed vigour, the red and purple lights from the 
fire falling upon their white blouses and yellow 
bodices. Aunt Anna-Rosa’s round, open mouth 
looked like a black hole in the middle of her pink, 
shining face. The blind man, conscious of the fire, 
felt his way towards it little by little, though without 
ceasing to play. Reaching the edge of the fireplace, 
he put one of his bare feet upon the hot stone. 
“ Zs-s ”” whispered Uncle Isidoro ‘warningly. 
“‘ Look out, boy, or you'll have a surprise.” 

The words were not out of his mouth when the 
youth gave a sudden bound backwards, shaking his 
burned foot in the air. For a moment he stopped 
playing, but the women never faltered. Standing 
there, erect and immovable around the huge oven, 
they might have been intoning a funeral dirge over 
some prehistoric sepulchre. 

“He is coming out!” cried Aunt Anna-Rosa 
suddenly, and Giacobbe’s great feet could be seen is- 
suing from the oven. At the same instant the house- 
door was thrown violently open, and the black-robed 
figure of Priest Elias appeared. On hearing what 
had occurred he had at once hastened to the house, 
hoping to arrive in time at least to prevent the 





After the Divorce 247 


ordeal of the oven. He was flushed and breathless, 
and his eyes flashed. On catching sight of him 
one of the women gave a scream and others stopped 
chanting, while the rest motioned to them to con- 
tinue. Giacobbe, meanwhile, had got out of the 
oven. 

“Be quiet!”’ commanded the priest, panting. 
“Aren’t you ashamed of yourselves? No?” 

They all became silent. 

“Go,” he said, opening the door and holding it 
with one hand, while with the other he almost 
pushed the women out. When the last had gone 
he became aware for the first time of the presence 
if Isidoro, and his face fell. ‘“‘ You too?” he said 
reproachfully. “ Extraordinary, most extraordi- 
nary! Don’t you see what you have done among 
you to that poor man?” Then changing his tone, — 
“Quick,” he said, “ go at once for the doctor as 
fast as you can. And as for you,” turning to Gia- 
cobbe, “ get to bed at once.” 

The sick man asked for nothing better; he was 
burning with fever, his head was shaking, and he 
could hardly see. Isidoro went off in search of the 
doctor, somewhat mortified and yet, in spite of his 
usually hard common sense, his intelligence, and his 
deeply religious nature, quite unable to see what 
harm there could be in trying to cure a tarantula 
sting with the rites, chants, and incantations em- 
ployed by one’s forebears from the days when giants 
inhabited the Nuraghes. 


248 After the Divorce 


The women had scattered into groups along the 
street and were discussing the occurrence, some of 
them a little ashamed, while others were inclined 
to blame the priest. One irrepressible young girl 
was beating her hands in time and singing the la- 
ment which should have been chanted in chorus 
around Giacobbe’s bed had not the priest’s arrival 
prevented : 


‘¢« Oh, mother of the spider! 
A stroke has fallen on me.’”’ 


Some of the women would have stopped Isidoro, 
but he strode quickly on, buried in thought. At last 
they all dispersed, and the cold, still evening settled 
down on the little widow’s house, while overhead 
the stars looked like golden eyes veiled in tears. 


CHAPTER XIV 


HE room where Giacobbe lay was extremely 
lofty, and so large that the oil light did 
not penetrate the corners. The furniture appeared 
to have been built expressly with a view to its ample 
proportions; a huge, red, wooden wardrobe which 
stood against the end wall, reaching clear to the ceil- 
ing. The bed, the lower part of which was draped 
with yellow curtains, was as high and massive as 
a mountain. Seen thus, in the dim, flickering light, 
with its black corners and great lofty white ceiling 
like a cloudy sky, the room had a mysterious, un- 
canny look. Little Aunt Anna-Rosa seemed almost 
in danger of losing her way as she moved about 
among the bulky furniture, and her shoulders hardly 
reached above the counterpane when she came and 
stood beside the bed where her brother lay in the 
uneasy grip of the fever. 

He seemed to himself still to be in the mound, 
only the two friends who had interred him, kept 
on piling the earth higher and higher about his 
head. He was suffocating, the torture was almost 
unendurable, and yet he dared not stop them, fear- 
ing the cure might not be efficacious unless his head 
were buried as well; and his head seemed to be 

249 


250 After the Divorce 


Priest Elias, on whose breast the tail of a taran- 
tula could be seen wriggling about. 

In his dream Giacobbe was conscious of an almost 
insane fear of death. It had occurred to him when 
he was in the oven that hell, perhaps, was a huge 
heated oven where the damned would sprawl 
throughout eternity. 

Now, in his dream, precisely the same feeling 
was reproduced. He was in the mound, the earth 
reached higher and higher about him; he shut his 
mouth tight to keep from swallowing it, and there, 
opposite him, he suddenly saw a lighted furnace. 
It was the infernal regions. Such a feeling of terror 
seized upon him that even in his dream, in his 
feverish semi-consciousness, he was aware of an 
overmastering desire to prove to himself that this 
horror was an illusion of the senses. In the effort 
he awoke, but even awake he had something of the 
same sensation that stones, were they endowed with 
feeling, would have in a burning building, growing 
all the while hotter and hotter, and yet unable to 
stir an inch. Giacobbe felt like a burning brick him- 
self, or a piece of live coal, a part of the infernal 
fires; and waking, his terror was even more acute 
than in his dream. He emitted a groan and the 
noise gave him comfort; it had an earthly, human 
sound, breaking in on all those diabolical sensations. 

Isidoro, who had stayed in case the little widow 
might have need of him, heard the groan from where 
he sat dozing in the adjoining kitchen, and bounded 


After the Divorce 251 


to his feet in terror; he thought that Giacobbe had 
died. Approaching the bed, he found the sick man 
lying flat on his back, his face drawn, his eyes, 
which looked almost black, wet with tears. 

“Are you awake?” asked the fisherman in a 
low voice. “Do you want anything?” He felt his 
pulse, and even laid his ear against it as though 
trying to hear the throbs. 

At the same instant Giacobbe observed the round 
little visage of his sister appear above the other 
edge of the bed, enveloped in the folds of a large 
white kerchief. 

Then a curious thing happened: the face of the 
sick man contracted, his mouth opened, his eyes 
closed, and a deep sob broke the stillness of the room. 
Instantly memory carried the woman back to a far- 
distant day when her brother, a tiny lad, had sat 
weeping on this very bed; and opening her arms 
just as she had done then, she took him to her 
kind bosom, murmuring words of loving remon- 
strance. 

“In the name of the holy souls in purgatory! 
What is it? What is the matter, little brother? ”’ 

Isidoro, quite at a loss, continued to feel his 
friend’s pulse, trying now one vein, and now an- 
other, and muttering to himself: “ How strange, 
how very strange! ” 

“Well, what is it? Won’t you tell me what it 
is? You, Isidoro Pane, what happened? ” 

“Why, nothing happened. He called out, and 


By 2 After the Divorce 


that was all. May be he had a bad dream. We'll 
give him a drink of water. There now, here’s a 
little fresh water. That’s it, he wants it—see how 
he is drinking! You were thirsty, weren’t you? 
It’s the fever, you see; that’s what ails him!” 

Giacobbe sat up in bed, and after drinking the 
water calmed down. He had on an old white knitted 
cotton shirt, through which could be seen the out- 
line of his small wiry body, the thick growth of 
black hair on his chest contrasting oddly with the 
perfectly smooth face and bald head above it. He 
remained in a sitting posture, leaning forward, and 
thoughtfully passing his well hand up and down the 
injured arm. 

“Yes,” he remarked suddenly in the panting, 
querulous tone of a person with fever. “ Yes; I 
had a bad dream. Whew! but it was hot! Holy 
San Costantino, how hot it was! I was dreaming 
of hell.” 

** Dear me, dear me, what an idea! ”’ said his sis- 
ter reprovingly; and Uncle Isidoro said playfully: 
* And so it was hot, little spring bird? ”’ 

The sick man seemed to be annoyed. 

“Don’t joke, and don’t say ‘little spring bird.’ 
I don’t like it; I shall never say it again, and I 
shall never laugh at any one again. 

“ Listen to me,” he said, bending forward and 
continuing to rub his arm. ‘“ Hell is a dreadful 
place. I’ve got to die, and I’ve got to tell you 
something first. Now listen, but don’t get fright- 


After the Divorce 253 


ened, Anna-Rosa, because I am certainly going to 
die; and Uncle Isidoro, you know it already, so I 
can tell you. Well, this is it. It was I who killed 
Basile Ledda.”’ 

Aunt Anna-Rosa’s eyes and mouth flew wide 
open; she leaned against the side of the bed, and 
began to shake convulsively. 

“* ] knew it already? ”’ exclaimed Isidoro. “ Why, 
I knew nothing at all!” 

Giacobbe raised a terrified face, and began to 
tremble as well. 

“Don’t have me arrested,” he implored. “I’m 
going to die, anyhow; you can tell them then. I 
thought you knew. What is the matter, Anna-Ro? 
Don’t be frightened; don’t have me arrested.” 

“It’s not that,” she said, raising herself. Her 
first sensation of having received a blow on the head 
was passing away, but now, in its place, there came 
a singular feeling of some change that was taking 
place within her; her own spirit seemed to have 
fled in dismay, and in its place had come something 
that regarded the world, life, heaven, earth—God 
himself—from a totally different standpoint; and 
everything viewed in the light of this new ‘Spirit 
was full of horror, misery, chaos. 

“T will not tell any one. No, no! But how could 
you ever suppose that I knew about it?”’ protested 
Isidoro. He felt no especial horror of Giacobbe, 
only profound pity; but at the same time he thought 
it would be better, now, for him to die. 


254 After the Divorce 


Then, simultaneously, their thoughts all flew to 
Costantino, and hardly left him again. 

“Lie down,” said Isidoro, smoothing out the pil- 
low. But the other only shook his head and began 
to talk again in the same querulous, laboured voice, 
now beseeching, now almost angry: 

“T thought you must know about it; and so, you 
never did, after all? Well, that’s so; how could 
you? But I was afraid of you all the same. I had 
an idea that I could read it in your eyes. Do you 
remember that night at your house, when you said: 
‘It might be you who killed him’? I was fright- 
ened that night. Then, there was that other time 
—Assumption Day—here in this very house, you 
called me ‘ murderer.’ I knew it was a joke, but 
it frightened me because I was afraid of you, any- 
how. So then, when I said that about you and 
my sister getting married, I meant it. I thought it 
might give me a sort of hold on you.” 

“Oh, Christ! Oh, holy little Jesus!” sobbed the 
widow. 

Giacobbe looked at her for a moment. 

“You are scared, eh? You wonder what made 
me do it? Well, I'll tell you. I hated that man; he 
had flogged me, and he owed me money. But I 
thought it would kill me when they condemned Cos- 
tantino Ledda. Why didn’t I confess then? Is 
that what you want to say? Ah, it sounds all very 
easy now, but you can’t do it. Costantino is a 
strong young man, I thought to myself; I shall die 


After the Divorce 255 


long before he does, and then I'll confess the whole 
thing. And I can tell you that that thing that Gio- 
vanna Era did made me a hundred years older. 
What is Costantino going to say when he comes 
back? What is he going to say?” he repeated softly 
to himself. 

“ What ought we to do?” said Aunt Anna-Rosa, 
burying her face in the bedclothes and groaning. She 
felt as though it must all be some frightful dream; 
yet, not for a single instant did she contemplate con- 
cealing her brother’s crime. And afterwards ?— 
One of two equally horrible things must happen. 
Either Giacobbe would die, or he would be sent to 
prison. She could not tell which of the two she 
dreaded most. 

“Now we must lie down and rest; to-morrow 
will be time enough to talk of what is the best thing 
to do,”’ said Isidoro, again smoothing out the pillow. 
Giacobbe turned over and laid himself down; then, 
raising his left hand, he began to count off on his 
fingers: “ Priest Elias, one; the magistrate, two; 
then—what’s his name?—Brontu Dejas; yes, I 
want him particularly. They must all come here, 
and I will make a confession.” 

“Brontu Dejas!” repeated Isidoro with stupe- 
faction. 

“Yes; they will take his word sooner than any 
one’s. But first, you’ve all got to swear on the cru- 
cifix that you'll let me die in peace. I’m frightened. 
You'll let me die in peace, won’t you?” 


256 After the Divorce 


“Why, of course; don’t worry now. And you, 
little godmother, go back to bed; get as much rest 
and sleep as you can,” said the fisherman, quietly 
drawing the clothes up about Giacobbe, who kept 
throwing them off, turning restlessly, and shaking 
his head. : 

“T’m hot,” said he. “TI tell you I’m hot. Let 
me alone. Why aren’t you more surprised, Uncle 
*Sidoro? I went on hiring out to keep people from 
suspecting anything; but you knew all along; oh, 
yes! you knew well enough! ” 

“TI tell you I knew nothing at all, child of grace.” 

“Then why aren’t you surprised? ”’ 

“‘ Because,” replied the old man in a grave voice, 
“such strange things are always happening; it is 
the way of the world. Now keep the covers over 
vou, and try to go to sleep.” 

The widow, who appeared not to have been lis- 
tening to what the two men were saying, now raised 
her face. Poor, little, fresh face! It had suddenly 
grown yellow and wrinkled; all the years that had 
passed over it without being able to leave any trace, 
had, in the last five minutes, taken their revenge! 

*“* Giacobbe,”’ said the little woman, ‘“‘ what need 
is there of calling in witnesses? Why should we 
have any one else? Won't J do?” She straight- 
ened herself and looked at Isidoro, who, in turn, 
looked at the sick man. 

“ Why, that’s true!” they exclaimed together. 

A sudden atmosphere of relief fell on the dimly 





After the Divorce 2517 


lighted room. The patient, with a sigh, stretched 
himself quietly out, remained still for a few mo- 
ments, and finally fell asleep. The little widow, 
likewise following Isidoro’s advice, went back to 
bed. The ponderous front of the great red ward- 
robe seemed to be brooding over the scene; and the 
shadowy ceiling to overhang it like the sky above 
a deserted hamlet. All those inanimate objects 
seemed to repeat gravely to one another the old 
fisherman’s words: “It is the way of the world!” 


The Orlei physician, Dr. Puddu, was a coarse, fat 
beast of aman. Once upon a time he, too, had had 
his high ideals; but Fate having cast him into this 
out-of-the-way corner of the world where the people 
were rarely, if ever, ill, he had taken to drink; at 
first, because, being from the South, he felt the cold; 
and afterwards because he found that wine and li- 
quor were very much to his taste. In these days, 
in addition to his intemperate habits, he had become 
a Free Thinker, so that even the villagers had lost 
all respect for him. Giacobbe had complained of 
a pain in his side, and Doctor Puddu, after cauter- 
ising the tarantula bite, had said roughly: 

“You fool, people don’t die of these things. If 
you do die, it will only be because you are an ass.” 
And Aunt Anna-Rosa had looked at him angrily, 
and muttered something under her breath. 

Poor little Aunt Anna-Rosa! It did not take 
much to anger her in these days; she quarrelled, in- 


258 After the Divorce 


deed, with every one except the patient. And how 
old she looked! After that night her face had re- 
mained yellow and drawn; she looked like a differ- 
ent person, and her brother’s revelation had worked 
a singular change in her both physically and mor- 
ally. She was constantly tormented by the question 
as to how Giacobbe ever could have brought himself 
to kill any one. He, who was always as merry and 
gentle as a lamb! How in the name of the holy 
souls in purgatory had he ever done it? And our 
father, he was no thief, not he! He was a God- 
fearing man, and always so kind and gay that when 
any of the neighbours were in trouble they invari- 
ably came to him to be cheered up. 

The little woman’s heart swelled as she thought 
of her old father long since dead, but suddenly a 
mist seemed to rise in her brain, and her face con- 
tracted with the horror of a terrible thought. 

“ Perhaps he, too, the kindly, good old man had 
committed some crime! Why not? No one could be 
trusted any more, living or dead, old or young.” . 
And then she fell to crying, beating her breast with 
her tiny fists, and bitterly repenting of her wicked 
doubts. 

When, approaching the bedside, she would find the 
patient’s face drawn with suffering, his wide, terror- 
stricken eyes, meanwhile, seeming to implore death 
to spare him, an infinite tide of pity would well up 
within her, a rush of maternal tenderness, a sorrow 
beyond words. More than ever was he her little 


After the Divorce 259 


brother, her boy, curled up on the great bed; so 
frightened, so shrunken with suffering! And while 
everything else, every one else, even the sacred dead, 
even innocent children, aroused hateful suspicions, he 
alone, he of them all, called for pity, tenderness, a 
passionate and consuming love, that was like melting 
wax within her. Yet she must see him, and she 
was seeing him,—die. More than that, she must 
wish for his death. All the while that she was 
nursing him with tenderest care, she must hope that 
her watchfulness, the medicines, everything, would 
fail. Moreover, death, that awful thing which she 
must ardently desire for the “ little brother ’’ whom 
she loved, when it came would bring, not only the 
deep, natural sorrow of her loss, but that other 
horror, the announcement of his guilt. 

Of all the burdens that pressed upon her, how- 
ever, the hardest to bear was the fact that the sick 
man was perfectly conscious of her attitude to- 
wards him. 

On the third day of his illness, Isidoro had 
brought, with great secrecy and mystery, a medicine 
obtained from the sacristan. It was a concoction 
made of olive-oil, into which had been plunged three 
scorpions, a centipede, a tarantula, a spider, and 
a poisonous fungus; it was considered a cure for 
any kind of sting. Aunt Anna-Rosa applied it 
at once to the patient’s puffed and swollen hand, 
he allowing her to do it, and watching the operation 
intently. Then he said: 


260 After the Divorce 


“Why do you take all this trouble for me, Anna- 
Ro? Don’t you want me to die?” 

Her heart sank, while he continued quietly, ad- 
dressing Isidoro: “ And you? You brought me this, 
but just suppose it were to cure me, what would 
you do then?” 

“God will look after that; leave it to him,” said 
the fisherman. 

Giacobbe lay quiet for a few moments; then he 
said : 

“ Shall you two go together to the magistrate’s? ” 

“Where? ” 

“ To the magistrate’s; it’s cold, though, now, and 
it’s a long way to go; you must not go on horse- 
back, Anna-Rosa, do you hear? You will have 
to have a carriage to drive to Nuoro.” 

“What for?’”’ she faltered distressedly, pretend- 
ing not to understand. 

“Why, to see the magistrate, of course.” 

She scolded him, and then went into the kitchen 
and wept bitterly. 

“Here is your oil,’’ she said presently, as Isidoro 
came out and prepared to leave. “ You could not 
do anything but bring it, of course. When is Priest 
Elias coming? ” 

“This evening.” 

“Yes, he ought to; Giacobbe must confess. Time 
is flying, and he is very ill; last night he didn’t close 
an eye. Ah!” she added suddenly, “he seems to 
me just like some wounded bird.” 


After the Divorce 261 


“ Have the Dejases been here? ”’ 

“Oh, yes! They’ve been here, both of them, 
mother and son. Brontu has been here twice. Oh, 
they all come!” she said desperately, “ but what 
good does it do? They can’t cure him; they can’t 
give him either life or death.” 

“Either one would be equally a blessing or a curse 
to him,” said Isidoro, carefully wrapping his red 
handkerchief around the vial of oil. 

“As they are for most of us!” said the woman. 

Soon after, the doctor arrived in a shrunken over- 
coat, with the collar turned up. He had been drink- 
ing already, and smelled strong of spirits; his lips 
were white, and he puffed, and spat about, some- 
times over himself. He seemed somewhat startled, 
however, when he saw his patient’s condition. 

“What the devil’s the matter with you?” he de- 
manded roughly. “ Your side? your side? You've 
got the devil in your side. Let’s have a look.” He 
threw back the covers, exposing Giacobbe’s hairy 
chest; passing his hand up and down his side, he 
listened with his ear close to the patient’s back. “It’s 
all nonsense,” he said. ‘‘ You’ve worked yourself 
up like some old woman.” Then he replaced the 
covers carelessly, and went out. At the door, how- 
ever, he turned and fixed Aunt Anna-Rosa with 
his eye. on 

“Woman,” he said, “let him see the priest at 
once; he has pneumonia.” 

At dusk Giacobbe confessed; then he called his 


262 After the Divorce 


sister. ‘ Anna-Ro,” he said, “ Priest Elias is going 
to Nuoro with you too. You must be sure to have 
a carriage on account of the cold.” 

It was, in fact, snowing then, and the big room 
was filled with the white reflected light. 

Priest Elias looked attentively at Aunt Anna- 
Rosa, for whom he had an especially tender feeling 
on account of a fancied resemblance to his mother. 
The poor little black-robed figure seemed to him to 
have shrunken in the past few days, and now she 
was hanging her head in a pitiful, shamefaced way; 
bowed with mortification at her “little brother’s ” 
disgrace. 

Instinctively the priest understood the heroic part 
that quivering soul had been called upon to play 
in this tragedy, and he breathed an inward bene- 
diction upon her. 


CHAPTER XV 


T was the month of May, and the wild valley 
of the Isalle, usually so forbidding and rugged, 
lay smiling in the sun, adorned with tall grass and 
clumps of flowering shrubs and fields of barley, 
which rippled in the breeze like cloths of greenish 
gold. It was as though some old pagan, drunk with 
sunlight and sweet scents, had decked himself out 
in branches and garlands. | 

The clear, liquid note of a wild bird would occa- 
sionally pierce the silence of the valley, then die 
away, drowned in the fragrance of the narcissuses 
and flowering broom, which gleamed like nuggets of 
molten gold on the very edges of the loftiest cliffs, 
as though peeping over to see what lay in the ravine 
below. 

A spendthrift fay had passed along, scattering 
flowers, colours, scents, with a reckless hand. Some 
meadows in the distance, pranked with ranunculuses, 
looked like stretches of green water reflecting a 
starry sky. Here and there a group of trees nodded 
and whispered together in the breeze. The sun had 
but just sunk and the west was still glowing like 
the cheek of a ripe peach; while in the east the 

263 


264. After the Divorce 


mountains lay like a huge parure of precious stones 
set in a case of lilac satin. 

Costantino Ledda, liberated only a few hours be- 
fore at Nuoro, was returning to his native village 
on foot, descending leisurely into the valley, his 
small canvas pack slung on his back. Now and 
then he would stop and look around him curiously. 

“Ha! the valley seems smaller, perhaps because 
I have seen the sea,” he murmured. 

He looked older; his face was clean-shaven and 
intensely white; but otherwise he had none of the 
tragic air which would have been appropriate under 
the circumstances. He was coming back in this 
manner,—alone and on foot,—because he had not 
been able to say precisely what day he would be 
freed ; otherwise some one, relative or friend, would 
certainly have gone to meet him. Besides, his im- 
patience to reach home would brook no delay. 
Down and down the mountain-side he went; he was 
almost gay, possibly because of some wine he had 
drunk at Nuoro, where he had also provided him- 
self with more for the journey. As he continued 
to descend his legs would occasionally double up 
under him, but he cared little for so trifling an incon- 
venience as that. 

“ Why,” he said to himself, ‘‘ when I am tired I 
have only to lie down and go to sleep. I have 
plenty of bread and wine in my bag; what more 
could any one want? I’m as free as the birds 
of the air. Yes, that’s true; I am free; I’m a bach- 


After the Divorce 265 


elor now; that’s a funny thing; once I was a mar- 
ried man with a wife, and now I’m a bachelor.” He 
thought that he found this idea amusing. 

Down and down, now watching the sandy path, 
winding between high grass on either side, now 
gazing at the birds to whom he had compared 
himself, as they flew hither and thither, at times 
almost skimming the ground, then darting into 
the bushes where they would find a roosting-place 
for the night. He thought of the prison magpie, 
and felt a sudden tightening at his heart. Yes; 
it was true he had been sorry, when the time came 
to leave that place of torment—the companions 
whom he disliked so heartily, the horrible, enclosing 
walls, the strip of sky that for all those years had 
seemed to overhang the prison courtyard like a 
metal lid. , 

After the death of the real culprit days and 
months had elapsed before Justice had completed 
its leisurely formalities and the innocent man could 
be liberated. During these months Costantino, in- 
formed of the event, had been wild with impatience, 
and the days had seemed like years; yet, when the 
moment of departure actually came, he nearly wept. 

This emotion, however, which was apparently 
the outcome of pity and sympathy for the beings 
whom he was leaving behind, was, in reality, for 
the things he was leaving behind; forall those in- 
animate objects that had engulfed and swallowed 
up his life—both his past and his future. Now this 


266 After the Divorce 


sorrow was done with, everything was done with; 
even that horrible torture that followed Giovanna’s 
act was all so much a thing of the past that he 
really fancied that he could laugh at it. 

Down, and down; he reached the bottom of the 
valley and began to skirt the edge of the Isalle. 
The sunset sky was still bright, and here and there 
the water shone between the oleanders and rushes, 
or reflected the rose and yellow lights in the sky. 
The delicate lace umbrellas of the elder-flower, and 
the brilliant coral blossoms of the oleanders stood 
out in the clear atmosphere as though from a setting 
of silver. Costantino, by this time very tired, be- 
gan to think that perhaps the valley was not, after 
all, so small as it had seemed at first. 

“T can sleep out of doors perfectly well,” he 
thought, “but it would have been so amusing to 
walk up to Isidoro’s door—Bang, bang—‘ Who’s 
there?’ ‘I’—‘Who’s I?’ ‘Why, Costantino 
Ledda!’ How astonished old Isidoro would look! 
Perhaps he would be singing the lauds; may be 
those lauds, who knows? Why, let’s see! J wrote 
a set of lauds once! How extraordinary that 
seems! ”’ 

He wondered over many incidents of the past as 
a boy will sometimes be astonished to think of things 
he did as a child. But the present held many sur- 
prises as well. The glory of the springtide amazed 
him, as did the length of time it took to cross 
a valley that appeared to be so small. But most 


After the Divorce 267 


of all he wondered to think that he was crossing 
it on his way back to his own village. 

He was walking now between two fields of grain 
above which the slanting light threw a veil of golden 
haze, and its surface, rippled by the breeze, seemed 
stroked by an invisible hand. 

He went on picturing his arrival, Isidoro having 
written to ask him to come straight to his house: 
“** Come in,’ he will say, and then, ‘ Giacobbe De- 
jas is dead; it was he who did it! ’—‘ I know that 
already. The devil! Is that all you have to tell 
me?’ ‘ Well, then, your wife has married some one 
else.’ ‘I know that too.’ ‘Then why don’t you 
cry?’ ‘Why on earth should I? I have cried 
enough; I don’t want to any more now. I’ve crossed 
the sea; I’ve seen the world. I’m not a boy any 
longer; nothing makes much difference to me any 
more.’” But at the very moment when he was 
boasting to himself of his indifference and worldly 
cynicism, an icy grip closed about his heart. 

Oh! to be going back to find the little house, Gio- 
vanna, his child, his past! 

“There is nothing left,’ he said aloud. “ The 
storm has swept over it and carried everything 
away, everything, everything——”’ 

He threw himself down on the edge of the field 
of grain in an agony of grief. It was often this 
way; the great tempest of sorrow had broken over 
him long before and seemingly passed on; but instead 
of that it had only hidden itself for a time; it was 


268 After the Divorce 


there now, stealing along, keeping pace with him; 
for long distances he would not see its evil shape; 
then suddenly it would leap forth, bursting through 
the ground at his very feet and whirling around its 
victim, clutch him by the throat, beat him to the 
ground, suffocate him—then leave him spent, ex- 
hausted. 

After a while Costantino sat up, unfastened his 
wallet, and drew out a dried gourd filled with wine, 
throwing his head back, he took a deep draught; 
then he put it away, and sat looking around him at 
the sea of grain on whose golden-green surface 
floated splotches of crimson poppies. Somewhat 
revived he presently resumed his journey, but all 
the eagerness and spring with which he had set 
out had died away. What did it matter whether 
he got home this day or the next, since there was 
no one to expect him? And so he plodded on till 
the first shadows of approaching night overtook 
him just as he reached the end of the valley. The 
crickets had turned out like a tribe of mowers with 
their tiny silver sickles, the scent of the shrubs and 
flowers hung heavy in the warm air; the breeze had 
died away, and the birds were silent ;, but the black 
triangles of the bats circled swiftly in the luminous 
grey dusk. 

Oh, that divine melancholy of a spring evening! 
Felt even by happy souls, may it not be an inher- 
ited homesickness, transmitted through all the ages? 
A longing for the flowers, and perfumes, and joys 


After the Divorce 269 


of that eternal, albeit earthly, paradise which our 
first parents lost for us forever. 

Costantino tramped on and on: he had passed 
long years under a brutal oppression, between in- 
fected walls, amid corrupt companions in an en- 
vironment whose very air was confined, and now— 
he was walking in the open, treading grass and 
stones under foot! As he ascended the mountain 
from the valley below, every step brought more of 
the horizon into view and a wider expanse of soft, 
overhanging sky as boundless as liberty itself. And 
yet,—and yet,—never in all those years of impris- 
onment had he experienced a sense of such utter 
hopelessness as that with which he now saw the 
shadows fall from those free skies. He was press- 
ing on, but whither? and why? He had set forth 
eager, elated, as one hastening to a place where 
pleasant things await him. Now he wondered at 
himself. In the uncertain twilight he seemed to 
have lost his way; his journey had turned out to 
be vain, abortive. He was trudging on aimlessly; he 
had no country, nor home, nor family; he would 
never reach any destination; he had gone astray, 
and was wandering about in a boundless, desert 
tract, as grey and cheerless as the sky above him, 
where the stars were like camp-fires lighted by 
solitary travellers who, unknown to one another, 
wandered, lost like himself, in the unwished-for and 
oppressive liberty of the trackless wilderness. 

And yet it was not the actual thought of Gio- 


270 After the Divorce 


vanna herself that weighed him down, nor yet his 
lost happiness, nor the misery that a wholly unde- 
served fate had forced upon him; all these things 
had long ago so eaten into his soul that they had 
come to form a part of his very nature, and he had 
grown almost to forget them, as one forgets the 
shirt he has on his back. Now his grief fastened 
upon memories of certain specific objects which had 
passed out of the setting of his life, and which he 
could never recover. 

His mind dwelt, for instance, persistently on the 
little common in front of Giovanna’s cottage, the 
stones in the old wall where they used to sit to- 
gether on summer evenings, and above all on the 
great, wide bed, where he would lay himself down 
beside her after the hard day’s work was over. He 
felt now as though he might be going home at the 
close of one of those long, toilsome days. But now 
—now—where was he to turn for rest and ease? 
Thus, up through the load of unhappiness that bore 
him down, all-pervading and indefinable as the fra- 
grance of the wild growth about him, a sense. of 
physical discomfort forced itself; he was conscious 
of hunger and weariness. 

Reaching the top of a knoll, he sat down and 
opened his wallet. Night had fallen, but the at- 
mosphere was clear and bright ; the mountains which 
hid the sea on the east were bathed in moonlight, 
and the Milky Way spanned the heavens like a 
white, deserted causeway; in the west a pale, uncer- 


After the Divorce 271 


tain reflection hung over the distant sea; a magical 
aurora encircled the mountains. The path stood 
out distinctly, and the round, compact clumps of 
bushes might have been a scattered flock of black 
sheep. No sound broke the stillness but the mourn- 
ful hoot of an owl. 

Costantino ate and drank; then, stretching him- 
self out on the ground, he allowed his gaze to wan- 
der for a moment along that vast white roadway 
that traversed the heavens; then he shut his eyes, 
and the sense of bodily comfort, the repose for his 
tired limbs, and the effect of the food and drink 
were such that he became almost cheerful again. 
Hardly, however, had his lids closed, when all his 
prison companions began to troop before his vision, 
and he seemed to be seated at work at his shoe- 
maker’s bench. The thought of all the wonderful 
things he would have to tell his friends at Orlei 
then came into his mind, and filled him with such 
childish pride that he had an impulse to get up at 
once and push on so as to get there without delay. 

“Yes, I must get up and go on,” he said, and 
then, “ No, I won’t; I shall stay here and go to 
sleep; I am very sleepy; no, I must get on,’—the 
words came confusedly this time. ‘ Isidoro Pane 
expects me. [I shall say, ‘ What a lot of people I 
have met! I have seen the sea; I know a man who 
is a marshal, Burrai is his name; he’s going to 
get me a position of shoemaker in the king’s house- 
hold.” Now I am going to get up and start—start 


272 After the Divorce 


—star > But he did not. Confused visions 
flitted across his brain. The King of Spades, astride 
of a donkey, came riding down that great white 
road that stretched across the sky; all at once he 
heard him cry out,—once,—twice,—three times. 
He was calling Costantino, who, opening his sleepy 
eyes, shut them again, and then opened them wide: 
“* Idiot,” he muttered ; “ it’s the owl; yes, I’m going 
directly; ’'m going ” And he fell fast asleep. 

When he awoke, the great, shining face of the 
moon was still high in the heavens; with its flood 
of steely light there came a fall of dew. Enormous 
shadows, like vast ‘black veils, hung over certain 
parts of the mountains, but every crag, every thicket 
and flower even, stood clearly out wherever the 
moonlight fell. The owl still gave his penetrating 
cry, sharp and metallic, cutting through the silence 
like a blade of steel. Costantino shivered; he was 
wet with dew, and getting up, he yawned loudly; 
the prolonged ‘ Ah—ah-h-h” fairly resounded in 
the intense stillness. He scrutinised the heavens to 
find out the hour. The Star, that is to say, Diana, 
had not yet lifted her emerald-gold face above the 
sea; dawn therefore was still a long way off, and 
Costantino resumed his journey, hoping to reach 
the village before the people should be about. He 
did not want to meet the gaze of the curious, and 
above all else he dreaded being seen by Giovanna 
or her mother. He had made up his mind to avoid 
them, if possible not even to see them or pass by 








After the Divorce 273 


their cottage; what good would it do? Everything 
was over between them. 

So he trudged on, and on; now up, now down; 
along the moonlit mountain-side. The heaps of 
slate-stone, the asphodels heavy with dew, the very 
rocks themselves, gave out a damp, penetrating 
odour, and here and there a rill of water stole in 
and out between fragrant beds of pennyroyal. As 
far away as the eye could reach, blue, vapoury skies 
overhung blue, misty mountains, until, in the ex- 
treme distance, they met and melted into one shim- 
mering sea of silver. The man walked on, and on; 
his brain yet only half awake, but his body refreshed 
and active. Now and then he would take a short- 
cut, leaping from rock to rock, then pausing breath- 
less, with straining heart and pulses. In _ the 
moon’s rays his limpid eyes showed flecks of silver 
light. 

The further he went the more familiar the way 
became; now he was inhaling the wild fragrance 
of his native soil; he recognised the melancholy salti 
sown with barley, the grain not yet turned; the 
beds of lentisks, the sparse trees whispering in some 
passing breath of wind, like old people murmuring 
in their sleep ; and there, far off, the range of mighty 
sphinxes blue in the moonlight; and further still, 
the flash of the sea, that sea that he was so proud 
to have crossed in no matter what fashion. On 
reaching the little church of San Francisco he 
paused, and, cap in hand, said a prayer, a perfectly 


274 After the Divorce 


honest and sincere one, for at that moment his free- 
dom gave him a sense of happiness such as he had 
not as yet experienced at any time since leaving 
the prison. 


Day had hardly begun to break when Isidoro 
heard a tapping at his door. For fifteen—twenty 
days, for four months, in fact, he had been waiting 
for that sound, and he was on his feet before his 
old heart had started its mad beating against his. 
breast. 

He opened the door; in the dim light he saw, or 
half saw, a tall figure not dressed in the costume 
of the country, but wearing a fustian coat as hard 
and stiff as leather, out of which emerged a long, 
pallid face. He did not know who it was. 

Costantino burst into a harsh laugh, and the fish- 
erman, with a pang, recognised his friend. Yes, 
at last; it was Costantino come back, but in that 
very first moment he knew it was not the Costan- 
tino of other days. He threw his arms around him, 
but without kissing him, and his heart melted into 
tears. 

“Well, you didn’t know me, after all,” said 
Costantino, unstrapping his wallet. “I knew you 
wouldn’t.” 

Even his voice and accent were strange; and now, 
after his first sensations, first of chill and then of 
pity, Isidoro felt a sort of diffidence. ‘ What are 
you dressed that way for?” he asked. “If you 


After the Divorce 275 


had let me know I would have brought you your 
clothes to Nuoro, and a horse too. Did you come 
all the way on foot?” 

* No; San Francisco lent me a horse. What are 
you about, Uncle Isidoro? I don’t want any coffee. 
Have you got any brandy?”’ 

The fisherman, who had begun to uncover the 
fire, got up from his knees, embarrassed and morti- 
fied at having nothing better to offer his guest than 
a little coffee. 

“T didn’t know,” he stammered, spreading out 
his hands, “but just wait a moment, I’ll go right 
off—you see I expected you, and I didn’t expect 
you ” And he started for the door. 

“‘ Stop; where are you going?” cried the other, 
seizing hold of him. “I don’t want anything at 
all. I only said it for a joke. Sit down here.” 

Isidoro seated himself, and began to look fur- 
tively at Costantino; little by little he grew more 
at ease with him, and presently passing his hand 
over his trousers he asked if he intended to go 
on dressing that way. In the early morning light 
streaming through the open door, Costantino’s face 
looked worn and grey. 

“Yes,” he said, with another of those disagree- 
able laughs, “I am going on dressing this way. 
I am going away soon.” 

“Going away soon! Where to?” 

“Oh! I have met so many people,” began Cos- 
tantino, in the tone of one reciting a lesson. ‘‘ And 





276 After the Divorce 


I have friends who will help me. What is there 
for me to do here, anyhow?” 

“Why, shoemaking! Didn’t you write to me 
that that was what you wanted to do?” 

“TI know a marshal named Burrai,’”’ continued 
Costantino, who always thought of the King of 
Spades as still holding office. “He lives in Rome 
now, and he’s written me a letter; he’s going to get 
me a position in the King’s household to be shoe- 
maker.” 

Isidoro looked at him pitifully. ‘Ah, the poor 
fellow, he was altogether different. What made 
him talk like that, and tell all those foolish little 
things when there were such heartrending topics 
to discuss.’”” Thus Uncle Isidoro to his own heart. 

Pretty soon, however, he began to suspect that 
Costantino was putting all this on, and that his 
apparent indifference was assumed. But why? If 
he could not be open and natural with him, with 
whom could he be? ‘ Come,” said he, “let us talk 
of other things now; we can discuss all that later. 
Really, though, won’t you have a little coffee? It 
would do you good.” 

“What do you want to talk about?” asked Cos- 
tantino drearily. “I knew you would think it strange 
that I don’t cry, but I’ve cried until I haven’t the 
wish to any more. And I am going away; one 
can’t stay in this place after having crossed the sea 
—who is that going by?” he asked suddenly, as 
the sound of footsteps was heard outside. “I don’t 


After the Divorce A 


want any one to see me,” and he jumped up and 
shut the door. 

When he turned, his whole expression had 
changed and his features were working. 

“T walked by there,’ he said, his voice sinking 
lower and lower, “on my way here. I didn’t 
want to, but somehow I found myself there before 
I knew it. How can I—how can I stay here? Tell 
me—you & 

He clasped both hands to his forehead and shook 
his head violently; then, throwing himself at full 
length on the ground, he writhed and twisted in an 
agony of sobs, his whole body shaking with the 
vehemence of his grief. He was like a young bull 
caught and held fast in the leash, and made to sub- 
mit to the red-hot iron. 

The old fisherman turned deathly white, but made 
no attempt whatever to calm him. At last, at last, 
he recognised his friend. 





CHAPTER XVI 


O sooner had news of Costantino’s return 
got abroad than visitors began to stream to 
Isidoro’s hut. Throughout the entire day there was 
an incessant coming and going of friends and rela- 
tives, and even of persons who had never in their 
lives so much as interchanged a word with the late 
prisoner, but who now hastened with open arms to 
invite him to make his home with them. The 
women wept over him, called him “ my son,” and 
gazed at him compassionately; one neighbour sent 
him a present of bread and sausages. All these 
kindly demonstrations seemed, however, only to an- 
noy their object. 

“Why on earth should they be sorry for me?” 
he said to Isidoro. ‘“‘ For Heaven’s sake, send them 
about their business, and let’s get away into the 
country.” 

“Yes, yes, we will go, all in good time, child of 
the Lord, only have a little patience,” said the 
other, bending over the fireplace, where he was 
cooking the sausage. ‘‘ How naughty you are, I 
declare!” 

Since witnessing that paroxysm of grief in the 
morning, Uncle Isidoro had felt much more at ease 

278 


After the Divorce 279 


with his guest, and even took little liberties with 
him, scolding him as though he had been a child. 
During the short intervals when they found them- 
selves alone, he told him the facts. Costantino lis- 
tened eagerly, and was annoyed when the arrival 
of fresh visitors interrupted the narrative. Among 
these visitors came the syndic, he who was a herds- 
“man, and looked like Napoleon I. His call was 
especially trying. 

“We will give you sheep and cows,” he began, 
wiping his nose on the back of his hand. “ Yes, 
every herdsman will give you a pecus,* and if there 
is anything you need, just say so; are we not all 
brothers and sisters in this world, and especially 
in a small community like this? ” 

Costantino, thinking of the treatment he had re- 
ceived at the hands of his “ brothers and sisters ” 
of this particular small community, shook his 
head. 

“Yes,” he said; “my brothers have treated me 
as Cain treated Abel; it would take a good deal 
more than sheep and cows to make it up to me.” 

“Oh, well! that has nothing to do with it,” re- 
plied the syndic, absorbed in his idea. “ You have 
travelled; tell me now, have you never stood on 
the top of some high mountain, and looked down 
on the villages scattered about in the plain below? 
Well, didn’t they seem to you like so many houses, 
each with its little family living inside? ” 

Costantino, who was tired of the conversation, 


* Head of cattle, 


280 After the Divorce 


merely replied that all he wanted was to leave this 
village and never come back to it again. 

“Oh, no! You mustn’t do that!” urged the other. 
“Where would you go? No, no; you must stay 
here, where we are all brothers.” 

The next to arrive was Doctor Puddu, carrying 
a large, dirty, grey umbrella. He at once peered 
into the earthenware saucepan to see what was 
cooking. 

“You are all degenerates, every one of you,” he 
announced in his harsh voice, rapping the saucepan 
with his umbrella. “ And I'll tell you the reason: 
it’s because you will eat pork.” 

“Don’t break the saucepan, please,” said Uncle 
Isidoro. “And I beg your pardon, but that is not 
pork; it’s beans, and bacon, and sausage.” 

“Well, isn’t bacon pork? You're all pigs. 
Well ,’ turning to Costantino. ‘‘ And so, good 
sheep, you’ve come back? I saw him die—what’s 
his name?—Giacobbe Dejas. He died a miserable 
death, as he deserved to. You had better take a 
purgative to-morrow; it’s absolutely necessary after 
a sea voyage.” 

Costantino looked at him without speaking. 

“You think I’m crazy?” shouted the doctor, 
going close to him, and shaking his umbrella. “A 
purgative! do you understand? A purgative!” 

“T heard you,” said Costantino. 

“Oh, so much the better! Well, I’ve heard that 
you say you want to go away. Go-o-o——! Go, by 





EE — a 


After the Divorce 281 


all means. Go to the devil. But first of all, go to 
the cemetery, go to that dunghill you call a cem-e- 
te-ry; and dig and scratch like a dog, and tear up 
Giacobbe Dejas’s bones, and gnaw them.” — 

He ground his teeth as though he were crunching 
bones ; it was both grotesque and horrible, and Cos- 
tantino could do nothing but stare at him in utter 
amazement. a) 

“What are you looking at me like that for? 
You’ve always been a fool, my dear fellow—my 
dear donkey! Just look at you now! calm and 
amiable as a pope! They’ve robbed you of every- 
thing you possessed, betrayed you, murdered you, 
knocked you about among them as though you had 
been a dried skeleton, and there you sit, bland and 
stupid as ever! Why don’t you do something? 
Why don’t you go to that vile woman, and take 
her, and her mother, and her mother-in-law by the 
hair of their heads, and tie them to the tails of the 
cows they offer to give you as a charity, and set fire 
to their petticoats, and turn them loose in the fields 
so that they may spread destruction in every direc- 
tion? Do you understand? I say, do you under- 
stand, idiot?” 

He flung the words in the other’s face, his breath 
heavy with absinthe, his eyes bloodshot. 

Costantino recoiled, trembling, but the doctor 
turned to go. On the threshold he paused again 
and shook his umbrella. 

“You make me long to break your neck!” he 


282 After the Divorce 


cried. “Men such as you deserve precisely the 
treatment they get! Well, take a purgative, any- 
how, stupid.” 

“Yes, I'll do that,” said Costantino, with a laugh, 
but at the same time the doctor’s words made a 
deep impression on him. There were times, indeed, 
when he felt utterly desperate. He said over and 
over again that he meant to go away, but, as a fact, 
he did not know where to go. Nor, on the other 
hand, could he see what was to become of him should 
he decide to remain on in the village. He said to 
himself : “I have no home, and there is no one be- 
longing to me; for this one day every one rushes 
to see me out of curiosity, but by to-morrow they will 
all have forgotten my very existence. I am like 
a bird that has lost its nest. What is there for 
me to do?” 

All the time, though, those words of the doctor’s 
kept ringing in his head. Yes, truly, that would 
be something for him to do. Go there, fall suddenly 
upon them like a bolt out of heaven, and utterly 
destroy all those people who had destroyed his life! 


“No, Costantino,’ resumed Uncle Isidoro, as 


they sat at table, eating the neighbour’s white bread 
and sausage. ‘‘ No; she is not happy. I have never 
looked her full in the face since, and it gives me a 
queer feeling to meet her, as though I were meeting 
the devil! And yet, do you know, I can’t help feel- 
ing sorry for her. She has a little girl that they 
tell me is like a young bean, it is so thin and puny. 


After the Divorce 283 


How could a child born in mortal sin be pretty? It 
was baptised just like a bastard, the priest wouldn’t 
go back to the house, and the people were sneering 
all along the street.” 

“Ah, do you remember my child?” asked Cos- 
tantino, cutting off a slice of fat, yellow bacon. 
“ He was not like a bean, not he! Ah, if he had 
only lived!” 

“It may be better so,” said the fisherman, begin- 
ning to moralise. “ Life is full of suffering; better 
to die innocent, to go—to fly—up there, above the 
blue sky, to the paradise that lies beyond the clouds, 
beyond the storms, beyond:all the miseries of human 
life. Drink something, Costantino; this wine is not 
very good, but there is still some left.—Well, I re- 
member last year on Assumption Day, Giacobbe 
Dejas asked.me to take dinner with him. He was 
afraid of me; he thought I knew, and he wanted 
his sister and me to get married. Oh! if you could 
just see that little woman you wouldn’t laugh. She 
went with the priest and me to Nuoro. May the 
Lord desert me in the hour of death, if ever I saw 
a more courageous woman in all my life! She 
hardly seemed to touch the ground! Well, she’s 
gone all shrunken and shrivelled now, don’t you 
know—like a piece of fruit that dries up on the 
tree before it is ripe. I go all the time to see her, 
and just to amuse her I say: ‘ Well, little barley- 
grain! Shall we two get married? She smiles and 
I smile, but we feel more like crying! Who could 


284. After the Divorce 


ever have imagined such a thing?—I mean, here 
was Giacobbe Dejas, seemingly happy and con- 
tented; he was getting rich, and he talked of being 
married. And then—all of a sudden—pum!— 
down he comes, like a rotten pear! Such is life! 
Bachissia Era sold her daughter, thinking to im- 
prove her condition, and now she is hungrier than 
ever. Giovanna Era did what she did, imagining 
that she was going to have a heaven upon earth, 
and instead of that, she’s like a frog with a stick 
run through it!” 

“But does he beat her?” asked Costantino 
heavily. 

“No, he doesn’t do that; but there are worse 
things than beating. She’s treated just like a ser- 
vant, or, rather, like a slave. You know how they 
used to treat their slaves in the old times? Well, 
that’s the way she’s treated in that house.” 

“ Well, let her burst! Here’s to her damnation! ” 
cried Costantino, raising his glass to his lips. It 
gave him a cruel pleasure to hear of Giovanna’s 
misery, such pleasure as a child will sometimes feel 
at seeing an unpopular playmate receive a whip- 
ping. 

Dinner over the two men went out and stretched 
themselves at full length beneath the wild fig-tree. 
It was a hot, breathless noontide; the air, smelling 
of poppies and filled with grey haze, was like that 
of a summer midday, and there were bees flying 
about, sounding their little trombones. Costantino, 





After the Divorce 285 


completely worn out by this time, fell asleep almost 
immediately. The fisherman, on the contrary, could 
not close an eye. A green grasshopper was skip- 
ping about among the blades of grass, giving its 
sharp “tic, tic.” Isidoro, stretching out one hand, 
tried to catch it, his thoughts dwelling all the while 
on Costantino. “ I know why he wants to go away,” 
he ruminated. ‘“ He still cares for her, poor boy; 
and if he stays here he will just suffer the way San 
Lorenzo did on his gridiron. There he lies, poor 
fellow, like a sick child! Ah, what have they done 
to him? Torn him to pieces—Ah-ha! I have you 
now!” but just as he was about to pull the grass- 
hopper apart, it occurred to him that possibly it 
too, like Costantino, had had its trials, and he let 
it go. 

A shadow fell across the foot of the path; Uncle 
Isidoro, recognising Priest Elias, sprang to his feet, 
went to meet him, and drew him into the hut, so as 
not to awaken Costantino. The latter, however, was 
a light sleeper, and, aroused presently by the sound 
of their voices, he too got up. As he approached 
the hut he realised that he was being talked about. 

“It is far better that he should go,” the priest 
was Saying in a serious tone. “ Far, far better.”’ 

Costantino could not tell why, but at the sound 
of these words his heart sank within him like lead. 

However, he did not go. 

The days followed one another and people soon 
ceased to trouble the returned exile; before long 


286 After the Divorce 


he was able to go about the village as much as he 
chose without being stared at, even by the gossips 
and ragamuffins. With the savings laid up in prison 
he purchased a stock of leather, soles, and thread, 
but he never began to work. Every day he bought 
a supply of meat and fruit and wine, eating and 
drinking freely himself, and urging Isidoro to do 
the same. He was in great dread lest the villagers 
might think that he was living on the old man’s 
charity, and wanted to let them see that he had 
money and was openhanded, not only with him, 
but with every one else; so he would conduct par- 
ties of his acquaintances to the tavern where he 
would make them all tipsy and get so himself at 
times, and then the tales he would relate of his 
prison experiences were marvellous indeed to hear. 

In this way his little store of money melted rap- 
idly away, and when Isidoro scolded him, all he 
would say was: “ Well, I have no children nor any 
one else to consider, so let me alone.”’ He was count- 
ing, moreover, on the inheritance left by his mur- 
dered uncle, which the other heirs had agreed to re- 
sign without forcing him to have recourse to the 
law. “ Then,” said he, “I shall take myself off. I 
am going to give you a hundred scudi, Uncle Isi- 
doro.”’ 

But poor old Isidoro did not want his scudi nor 
anything else except to see him restored to the Cos- 
tantino of other days—good, industrious, and frank. 
Frank he certainly was not at present, and when, 


After the Divorce 287 


occasionally, the fisherman surprised him with tears 
in his eyes, his sore, old heart leaped for joy. 

“What is it, child of grace?” he would ask. 
But Costantino would merely laugh, even when the 
tears were actually running down his cheeks. It 
was heartrending. 

Sometimes the two would go off together to fish 
for leeches; that is, Isidoro would stand patiently 
knee-deep in the yellow, stagnant water, while Cos- 
tantino, stretched on his back among the rushes, 
would spin yarns about his former fellow-prisoners, 
gazing off, meanwhile, towards the horizon with 
an unaccountable feeling of homesickness. 

Go away? go away? Did he not long to go 
away? Did he not, up there, beneath that fateful 
sky, in the deathly solitude of the uplands, under 
the eternal surveillance of those colossal sphinxes, 
feel as though an iron circle were pressing upon 
him? Every object, from the blades of grass along 
the roadside to the very mountain-peaks, reminded 
him of the past. Each night he prowled around 
Giovanna’s house like some stealthy animal, and one 
evening he saw her tall figure issue forth, and move 
down in the direction of their cottage. This was 
the first time that he had seen her, and he recog- 
nised her instantly, notwithstanding that it was by 
the fading light of a damp, overcast evening. His 
heart beat violently, and each throb gave him an 
added pang, a fresh memory, a new impulse of 
despair. His instinct was to throw himself upon 


288 After the Divorce 


her then and there, clasp her in a close embrace,— 
kill her. Before long, however, he was no longer 
satisfied to catch only furtive glances, secretly and in 
the dark; he became possessed with the desire to 
see her and to be seen of her in broad daylight; 
but she never left the house, and he dared not go 
by there in the daytime. On another evening, 
a Saturday, he heard Brontu’s laugh ring out from 
the portico, and he fancied that hers mingled with 
it. His eyes filled, and he had much the same sen- 
sation of nausea as on that first morning of the 
sea voyage when he woke up ill. 

All this time he continued to feign the utmost 
indifference, without quite knowing why he did so. 
The Orlei people had, however, become almost hate- 
ful to him, even Uncle Isidoro. Sometimes he 
asked himself in wonder why he had ever come 
back. 

“T am going away,” he said one day to the fish- 
erman, gazing across the interminable stretch of 
uplands to the blue and crimson sky beyond, against 
which the thickets of arbute seemed to float like 
green clouds. “I have written to a friend of mine 
—Burrai—he can do anything, you know; he could 
have gotten me a pardon, even if I had really been 
guilty.” 

“You have told me all that before; I am tired 
of hearing it,” said Isidoro. ‘“ All the same, I notice 
that he has never even answered your letter.” 

“ He is going to get me a position; yes, I really 








After the Divorce 289 


mean to go. But tell me why is it that the priest 
is so anxious for it? Is he afraid that I will kill 
Brontu Dejas? ” 

“Yes, he is. He’s afraid of just that.” 

“No, he’s not; that’s not it. I said to him: 
‘ Priest Elias, you must know perfectly well that if 
I had wanted to kill any one, I would have done it 
right off.’ And all he said was: ‘Go away, go 
away! It would be far better.’ What do you think 
about it, Uncle Fisherman; shall I go or not?”’ 

“T don’t think anything about it,’’ answered the 
other in a tone of strong disapproval. “ What I 
do think is that you are an idle dog. Why aren't 
you at work, tell me that? It’s because you do 
nothing but think all the time of your good-for- 
nothing Burrai, who, however, never gives you a 
thought.” - 

“Oh! he doesn’t give me a thought?” said Cos- 
tantino, piqued. “ Well, I’ll just let you see whether 
he does or not. Look here!” 

He drew a letter from the inside pocket of his 
coat, and proceeded to read it aloud. It was from 
Burrai, written at Rome, where the ex-marshal had 
opened a little shop for the sale of Sardinian wines. 
Naturally, being himself, he had improved upon 
the facts, and announced that he was the proprietor 
of a large and flourishing establishment; he invited 
Costantino to pay him a visit, and reproached him 
for not having come at once to Rome, where, he 
said, he could find him a position without difficulty. 


290 After the Divorce 


The fisherman’s blue eyes grew round with inno- 
cent wonder. 

“To think, only to think!’ he exclaimed. ‘ And 
you never told me a word about it! What made 
you hide the letter? How much does it cost to 
go to Rome?” 

“Oh! only about fifty lire.” 

“And have you got that much? ” 

“Why, of course I have!” 

“Then go, go by all means!” exclaimed the old 
man, stretching his arms out towards the horizon. 

They were both silent for a moment. The fish- 
erman, bending his head, gazed at the pebbles lying 
at his feet, while Costantino stared absently ahead 
of him. Beyond the brook, the tall, yellow, meadow- 
grass was bowing in the wind, and the long stems 
of the golden oats rippled against the blue back- 
ground of the sky. 

Uncle Isidoro made up his mind that the moment 
had come to tell Costantino plainly why all his 
friends wanted him to leave the village. 

“Giovanna,” he began quietly, “does not love 
her husband; you and she might meet———” 

“She and I might meet? Well, and if we did, 
what then?” 

“ Nothing; you might, that’s all.” 

“Oh, nothing!” cried Costantino, and his voice 
rang out scornfully in the profound stillness ; “ noth- 
ing! I tell you that I despise that low woman. 
I don’t want her.” 


After the Divorce 291 


“You don’t want her, and yet you hang about 
her house all the time, like a fly about the honey- 
pot.” 

“ Ah, you know about that?” said Costantino, 
somewhat crestfallen. “It’s not true, though,—well 
—yes; perhaps it is. But suppose I do hang about 
her house, what business is it of yours? ”’ 

“Oh! none at all, but—you had better go away.” 

“TI am going. I suppose the truth is you are 
getting tired of having me on your hands!” 

“Costantino, Costantino!’ exclaimed the old 
man in a hurt voice. 

Costantino pulled up a tuft of rushes, threw it 
from him, and gazed again into the distance. His 
face was working as it had done on the morning 
of his return, after he had closed the door of Isi- 
doro’s hut; his brain swam, once or twice he gulped 
down the bitter saliva that rose in his throat; then 
he spoke: 

“Well, after all, why does the priest insist so on 
my going? Am [I not actually her husband? Sup- 
pose even that she were to come back to me? 
Wouldn’t it be coming back to her own husband? ” 

“ If she were to come back to you, my dear fellow, 
it would be Brontu Dejas either killing you or hav- 
ing you arrested.” 

“Well, you needn’t be afraid; I don’t want her. 
She’s a fallen woman, as far as I am concerned. I 
shall go off somewhere, to a distance, and marry 
some one else.” 


292 After the Divorce 


“Oh, no! You would never do that,’’ murmured 
Isidoro appealingly. ‘‘ You are too good a Chris- 
tian.” 

“No; I would never do that,” repeated Costan- 
tino mechanically. 

“Never in the world; you are far too good a 
Christian.” The old man said it again, but without 
conviction. The experience of a long life was bat- 
tling with the tenets of his simple faith. 

“Tf he does not do it,” he sighed to himself, “ it 
will not be merely because he is a good Christian.” 








CHAPTER XVII 


HE July evening fell softly, tranquilly, like 

a bluish veil. Costantino, seated on the 
stone bench outside the fisherman’s hut, was thought- 
fully counting on his fingers. 

- Yes; it had been sixty-four days since his return. 
Six-ty-four days! It seemed like yesterday, and— 
it seemed like a century! The exile’s fustian coat 
had grown worn and shabby; his face, dark and 
gloomy; and his heart—yes, his heart as well, had 
worn away from day to day, from hour to hour. 
Eaten into by misery, by rage and passion, it, too, 
had turned black, like a thing on the verge of decay. 

A habit of dissembling, a result of prison life, 
_had clung to him; so that now he found it impossible 
to be really open with any one, much as he some- 
times longed to unburden his heart; while the con- 
stant effort to conceal his feelings harassed him 
and added to his general misery. A frozen void 
seemed to surround him, like a great sea, calm, but 
boundless, stretching away in all directions from a 
shipwrecked mariner. For two months now he 
had been swimming in this sea, and he was wearied 
out; his forces were spent. Scan the horizon as he 
would, his soul could espy no friendly shore across 


293 


294 After the Divorce 


that bleak and desolate expanse; no prospect of an 
end to the unequal struggle; the icy water and the 
measureless void were slowly swallowing him up. 

Every day he would talk of going away, but noth- 
ing more. It was a pretence, like all else that he 
did ; in his heart he knew perfectly well that now he 
would never go. Why should he? On this side 
of the water, or on that, life would always be the 
same. He cared for no one; he hated no one, and 
he felt that he had become as base and self-centred 
as his late comrades in prison. Even Uncle Isi- 
doro, who had meant so much to him at a distance, 
now, in the close companionship of daily intercourse, 
had become an object of indifference, at times almost 
of dislike. 

When the old man went off on his fishing expe- 
ditions, or on the circuits which he made from time 
to time through the country to dispose of his wares, 
Costantino felt as though a weight had been lifted 
from him; the semi-paternal oversight which the 
other exercised over him having, in fact, come to 
both frighten and irritate him. 

On this particular evening the fisherman was 
away, and Costantino was sensible of this feeling of 
freedom from an irksome restraint. Now he could 
do whatever came into his head, without any one 
to preach, or that disagreeable sensation of being 
watched, which, possibly as a result of the long years 
spent in prison, the mere presence of the old man 
was sufficient to excite. Moreover, he was expect- 


SS a 


After the Divorce 295 


ing a visitor. Although he professed, now, to de- 
spise all women, and did, in fact, usually avoid them 
as much as possible, he had allowed himself to be 
drawn into relations with a strange creature—a 
half-witted girl—who lived near Giovanna. She 
had surprised him one night prowling about the 
Dejas house and had persuaded him to go home 
with her. 

From this individual he got all the gossip of the 
white house, and he took refuge with her whenever 
he thought he had been seen crossing the common. 
He was waiting for her now at Isidoro’s hut, in 
the owner’s absence, but he looked down on her, 
and her foolish talk jarred on him. Presently she 
arrived, and Costantino told her to sit down out 
there on the stone bench beside him. 

“It’s. hot inside, and there are fleas, and spiders, 
and—devils. Stay here in the fresh air,” he said, 
without looking at her. 

“ But we'll be seen,” she objected, in a deep, rough 
voice. 

“ All right; suppose we are! It makes no differ- 
ence to me, why should it to you?” 

“But, as it happens, it does make a difference 
to me.” 

“Why?” he said, raising his voice. ‘“ Men can- 
not matter, since they are all sinners as well; and 
as for God, he can see us just as well inside as 
out.” 

“Oh, go away!” she said, but without any show 


296 After the Divorce 


of anger. ‘“ You’ve been drinking.” Then she 
turned away and went into the hut. Striking a 
light, she looked into the cupboard where the food 
was usually kept, and, as Costantino still did not 
come, she returned to the door and called to him: 
“If you don’t come at once IJ shall go away; but 
you had better be careful; I have something to tell 
you.” 

He jumped up, and, going inside, took her in his 
arms. The girl broke into a wild laugh. 

“ Ah-ha! you come quick enough now. That 
brought my little shorn lamb, eh?” 

She was tall and stout, with a small head and a 
dark, diminutive face, red lips, and greenish eyes— 
not ugly, exactly—but rather repellent. Though 
she never drank anything herself, she gave an im- 
pression of being always a little tipsy, and was very 
prone to think that other people were so, in fact. 
Still laughing, she went again to the cupboard. 

“Tt’s empty,” she said. “ Nothing there at all; 
and, do you know, I am hungry!” 

“If you'll wait a moment I'll go and buy some- 
thing; but first, you must tell me * 

She turned abruptly, laid one hand on his breast, 
and with the other began to rain blows that were 
anything but playful. 

“ Ah, you want to know—crocodile. You want 
to know, do you? That’s what brought you in, is 
it? Go back—enjoy the air, poor, dear little lamb! 
You want me to tell you? You think it is something 





en 


After the Divorce 297 


about Giovanna Era, eh? And you came in for 
that, and not to see me?” 

“Let go,” he said, seizing her hands. “ You hit 
hard; the devil take you! Yes, that’s what I came 
in for—well? ” 

“T shan’t tell you a word, so there! ”’ 

“Now, Mattea,” he said gently, “don’t make 
me angry; you are not ill-natured. See now, | am 
going off to buy you whatever you want. What 
shall it be? What would you like to have?” 

He was like a child promising to be good if only 
it can have what it wants. And, in fact, at that 
moment he did want something; he wanted it badly, 
and not a nice thing, either. What he wanted was 
to be told that Brontu had beaten his wife, or that 
she had met with an accident, or that overwhelming 
disaster of one sort or another had engulfed the 
house of Dejas, root and branch. It was, there- 
fore, somewhat disappointing when Mattea, closing 
one eye, announced that some cattle had been stolen, 
and that Aunt Martina, on hearing the news, had 
rushed off like a crazy thing to ascertain the exact 
extent of the loss. ‘‘ She will be up at the folds all 
night, and your wife is all alone—do you under- 
stand—alone? ”’ 

* Well, what difference does that make to me?” 

“Stupid! You can go to see her—You won't 
go? Why, that’s what I came expressly to tell you! 
Of course you'll go; I want you to. I’m sorry for 
you. After all, you are her husband.” 


298 After the Divorce 


“T’m not. I’m not any one’s husband,” he said, 
with a shrug. “I thought you would have some- 
thing very different to tell me. Now—what shall I 
get you? Beans—milk—bacon—cheese? ”’ 

“Tf you’re not any one’s husband, then marry 
me,” she said, in a low, unsteady voice, like a person 
who has been drinking. 

Costantino coughed, and spat on the ground. 

Instantly a gleam of intelligence shot into her 
usually dull, expressionless eyes. 

“Why do you do that?” she asked sharply. 
“You think, perhaps, that she is better than I?” 

He flushed, and then a heartsick feeling came 
over him. : 

“Yes,” he said; “ you are worse, or—better than 
she.” 

“What do you say?” 

“Tf you are not lying at this moment, and didn’t 
come here to lay a trap for me, with this story of 
her being alone—well, then you are better than 
she.” 

“Why should I lay a trap for you? I’m sorry 
for you, that’s all. I swear by the memory of my 
dead, that if you go there this evening you'll run 
no risk whatever.” 

“Who can believe you, woman, when you don’t 
respect even the dead?” 

Mattea, angry and offended, started to leave the 
hut; but he held her back. 

“A low dog,” she said scornfully. “I take pity 


After the Divorce 299 


on you, and you speak to me like that! What have 
you to reproach me with? What, I say?” She 
threw her head back with a certain pride, knitting 
her brows, and turning upon Costantino a look that 
was altogether new. He stared back at her for a 
moment, amazed that a woman of her class should 
speak in that tone, should hold up her head, and 
dare to look at him with such an expression. Then 
he began to laugh. 

“I’m off now,” he said, “ but I’ll be back in a 
moment. I'll get some wine too, even though you 
don’t drink it. Wait for me here—wait, I say,’’ he 
repeated roughly, as she followed him to the door. 
“Don’t bother me.’”’ She stood still, and he went 
out, but before he had gone a dozen steps he heard 
her deep voice calling him back. 

Returning, he saw the tip of her nose through 
the crack of the door, and one eye, regarding him 
with its habitual look of dull stolidity. 

“What do you want, squint-eyed goat?” 

“If you are going to her, there is no use in 
making me wait here.” 

“Go to the devil whom you came from!” ex- 
claimed Costantino. “I would as soon think of 
going to her house as you would of going to church. 
I say you are to wait!” and he made as if to tweak 
her nose, but she quickly drew back and shut the 
door. 

Ten minutes later Costantino returned, but his 
strange guest had disappeared. Thinking that she 


300 After the Divorce 


might be hiding somewhere outside, he looked for 
her, calling in a low voice and telling her that he 
had bread and meat and fruit, but in vain; she had 
taken herself off. 

An intense stillness reigned all about the hut. 
Through the night, now completely fallen, came 
only the sound of the fig-leaves rustling mysteri- 
ously, as though an invisible hand were shaking a 
piece of stiff silk. Nothing else could be heard, and 
nothing could be seen, except the stars shining bril- 
liantly in the warm sky. 

Costantino felt much aggrieved by Mattea’s de- 
fection. As lonely as an outcast dog, what on earth 
was there for him to do throughout that intermi- 
nable evening? He was not sleepy, having, in fact, 
taken a long nap in the afternoon, and he had no- 
where to go. He began to eat and drink, talking 
aloud from time to time in a querulous voice. 3 

“Tf she imagines that I am coming to see her, she’s 
green, ’—-silence—“ as green as a rose in spring- 
time. She’s crazy.” Another silence. Then— 
“Coming to see her! Not I; neither her nor the 
other one. Mattea is sickening; she seems to be a 
sort of animal, and that’s all there is about it.” 

He swore, and then gave a light, purposeless 
laugh, such as people give when they are alone. All 
the while he kept swallowing great gulps of wine, 
and each time that he emptied his glass he would 
thrust out his lips and exclaim: ‘‘ Ah—ah—ah!” 
rubbing his chest up and down to express the deli- 


After the Divorce 301 


cious sensation caused by the wine as it flowed down 
his throat. Soon he began to feel more cheerful. 

“She may go to the devil—or to hell, if she 
wants to!” he exclaimed, thinking of Mattea and 
her sudden disappearance, But all the while he 
knew perfectly well that he was forcing himself 
to dwell despitefully upon her, in order to keep 
from thinking of the other. At last he went out, 
and, stretching himself upon the stone bench, al- 
lowed his thoughts to take their own course. 

“‘ She is alone,” he reflected. ‘‘ Well, what do I 
care? I loathe her and I wouldn't go there, not 
if she were to give me a chest full of gold! What 
should I do with gold, anyway?” He put the 
question to himself in profound dejection, but im- 
mediately began to hum a gay little song, having 
got into a way of trying to fool himself as well as 
other people: 


*** Little heart, dear heart, 
I await thee day by day, 
But, when thou seest me, 
Hovereth near the bird of prey.’” 


For a time the sound of his own voice—low, 
monotonous,—arrested his attention; then his 
thoughts once more asserted themselves. 7 

“Tf I were to go there—well, what would hap- 
pen? Sin, perhaps. But am I not her husband? I 
have not the remotest idea of going there, though; 
I should think not! Uncle Isidoro makes me laugh 
—old idiot! ‘Go away, go away,’ [imitating Uncle 


302 After the Divorce 


Isidoro’s voice], ‘if you don’t go away, something 
dreadful is sure to happen! Brontu Dejas will kill 
you, or have you arrested!’ Well, if he does, what 
then? ” 

He began to sing again, the sharp rustle of the 
fig-leaves, almost like the clash of metal blades, ac- 
companying the subdued murmur of his voice: 


‘* * When you see life 
Bloom in January, 
When you see a swineherd 
Making cheese of pork——’” 


He shifted his position and his heavy eyelids 
closed, his head, supported on one hand, rolling 
. from side to side. 

“ Well, what then?” he repeated, then opened his 
eyes, as though startled by the sound of his own 
voice. They closed again presently, and he went 
on talking to himself: 

“No; I would never have her again for my wife. 
For me she is just an abandoned woman. She 
has been living with another man, and, as long as 
she has gone to live with him, she might come back 
and live with me, and then go and live with some 
one else! She’s no better than Mattea, and I spit 
upon them both!” 

He opened his eyes and spat on the ground. At 
the moment he had a genuine scorn of Giovanna, 
and yet, at the very same time, tender, distant mem- 
ories surged up in his breast. He remembered a 
kiss he had once given her as she lay asleep, and 


| 
5 
1 





After the Divorce 303 


how she had opened her eyes with a startled look, 
exclaiming: ‘ Oh, I thought it was some one else! ”’ 
Well, what manner of foolishness was this for him 
to be thinking of now? He was a simpleton, neither 
more nor less than a simpleton! Moreover, how 
could he know, supposing for a moment that he were 
to go, whether Giovanna would receive him or drive 
him away? The man’s mind was neither trained 
nor developed, yet, at that moment, he was reason- 
ing as a much more complex nature might have 
done. He hoped that she would not receive him; 
he knew that for himself there was nothing for it 
but to go on living and suffering; yet he felt that, 
should he go to her and be repulsed, at least a ray 
of light would penetrate the cold, dreary void that 
encircled him. But he wanted her, he longed for 
her still. From the day he had lost her his whole 
being had suffered like a crushed and twisted limb 
that still goes on living. Yet, mingled with this 
sense of longing there was a spiritual breath as 
well, the instinct of the immortal soul which never 
wholly dies out, even in the most degraded. 

He dreamed of Giovanna an honest woman, lost 
forever in this world, but restored to him in eter- 
nity. Now, if she were to betray her second hus- 
band, even for the sake of her first, she would not 
—could not—be an honest woman! So thought 
Costantino, and yet 

It was, perhaps, ten o’clock, and he had been 
lying for half an hour or more on the stone bench, 





304 After the Divorce 


when a mournful strain broke in upon the stillness. 
It was the blind man, singing and accompanying 
himself upon his rude instrument. His voice, clear 
enough, but sad and monotonous, vibrated through 
the night air with a sobbing suggestion of home- 
sickness that was hardly human, as though it were 
the wail of a lost soul, recalling the few hours of 
happiness spent upon earth. 

The music seemed to be a cry for light, happiness, 
the joy of living, all those things whose existence the 
blind youth half understood, but could never hope 
to realise—which the dead have lost, and can never 
hope to repossess. Costantino shivered and got up; 
the voice and the accompaniment began to die away, 
growing gradually fainter and fainter, and ceasing 
at last altogether. He felt a great wave of agony 
and tenderness surge up in his breast. In the dark- 
ness, the silence, the unutterable loneliness that sur- 
rounded him, he, too, felt an overmastering longing, 
like the blind man’s, for light; an agonising home- 
sickness, like the dead recalling their brief experi- 
ence of life. He turned and began to walk in the 
direction of the village. 

At first he seemed to be in a dream, although he 
heard beneath his feet the rustle of the dead leaves 
and stubble blown by the wind about Isidoro’s hut. 
He rubbed his eyelids and little violet-coloured elec- 
tric circles seemed to flash and swim in the air. 
Soon though, his eyes becoming used to the dark- 
ness, he discerned clearly the light line of the road, 


After the Divorce 305 


the black cottages, the great, empty void above, 
where the stars hung like drops of gold, ready to 
fall. He walked steadily on, knowing perfectly 
whither he was bound, and never wavering for a 
single instant. Here and there, on the thresholds 
of cottages whose owners were too poor to indulge 
in the luxury of a light, little groups of people sat, 
enjoying the freshness of the night air. 

Occasionally the high-pitched voice of a woman 
would float across the road, recounting some piece 
of gossip, or trifling incident of domestic life. In 
a lonely angle Costantino espied a pair of lovers; 
the man, hearing his footsteps approach, tried to 
hide his companion, who quickly turned her face 
to the wall. Costantino walked on, but presently 
he stopped and half turned, thinking he would give 
the two young people a fright by calling out: “ I am 
going to tell your father right away!” But the 
fear of attracting attention, and being himself dis- 
covered, deterred him, and he went on. 

When he discerned the black mass of the almond- 
tree, rearing itself from beside the path beyond Aunt 
Bachissia’s cottage, his heart gave a sudden bound, 
and then stood still; it was so like a great head with 
rough, shaggy locks, thrusting itself out, intently 
watching for him to appear. He had fully deter- 
mined to pass the tree, cross the common, enter the 
Dejas house, and speak to Giovanna; it all seemed 
perfectly simple and plain, and he was prepared to 
do it; yet he was frightened, more than frightened 


306 After the Divorce 


—terrified. A flexible, girlish voice floated out into 
the night: “ No matter how often you may say it, 
it’s not true!” 

He looked all about him; no one was to be seen, 
and he went on, his nervousness increasing with 
every step. Crossing the common, he examined. 
Aunt Bachissia’s cottage ; then the white house; then 
Mattea’s hovel; from the last a faint light shone; 
the two others were in total darkness. Again the 
idea crossed his mind that Mattea might be playing 
him a trick; or, perhaps, Aunt Bachissia was with 
Giovanna, or the latter might already have gone 
to bed, and would decline to open the door! Never- 
theless, he walked steadily on, and up on the por- 
tico. 

Instantly the figure of Giovanna became apparent, 
seated on the doorstep. At the same moment she 
recognised him and leaped to her feet, rigid with 
terror. His voice, low, agitated, at once reassured 
her. 

“Don’t be frightened. Are you alone?” 

sé Yes.”’ 

A second later they were in each other’s arms. 


EPILOGUE 





EPILOGUE 


YEAR elapsed. 
One night, when Brontu was away from 
home, Aunt Martina heard, or thought she heard, a 
low murmur of voices in Giovanna’s room. Had 
Brontu come back? the old woman wondered, and 
. if so, why? Could anything have happened at the 
sheepfolds ? 

Tormented by the thought, she finally got up. 
The door was open, and she listened a moment. 
Yes, undoubtedly some one was talking in Gio- 
vanna’s room. Not wishing to strike a light, she 
attempted to cross the room that separated her own 
chamber from Giovanna’s, in the dark. She made 
a misstep, however, and, trying to recover herself, 
overthrew a chair. “ Holy Mary!” she muttered, 
setting it right again. Then she groped her way 
to the door, felt for the handle, and tried to open 
it. It was locked. 

“What do you want?” demanded Giovanna’s 
voice instantly. 

“Has Brontu got back?” 

“No; why?” 

“ T thought I heard some one talking. Why have 
you got the door locked? ”’ 

309 


310 After the Divorce 


“Ts it locked? I must have done it without think- 
ing,’ said Giovanna innocently. “Tl open it right 
away; just wait a moment. I was talking to the 
baby; she wouldn't go to sleep.” 

“* Mariedda!”’ called the grandmother. But there 
was no response. 

“Is she asleep now?” 

“ She is just falling asleep.” 

In the pause that ensued a painful drama was 
enacted in the breasts of the two women. 

“T will get up now and open the door,” said Gio- 
vanna presently in a strained voice. But the old 
woman made no reply. Motionless, a cold chill 
creeping through her, she felt the horrible truth 
flash into her mind like a sudden glare of blinding 
light. Giovanna must have a lover, and that lover 
could be none other than Costantino Ledda. In 
that moment of searching illumination a thousand 
little incidents to which she had paid no heed at 
the time, a thousand little unconsidered trifles, rose 
up to confront her, and she trembled from head to 
foot, in a paroxysm of grief and rage. Yet, when 
Giovanna repeated: “I will open the door right 
away,’ she was able to control herself, and answer 
quietly : 

“It’s not worth while; stay where you are.” 

Then she turned, and, crossing the room again 
in the dark, said to herself with a sort of calm fury: 
“‘ Now is the time to show them that old Martina is 
no fool!” 


After the Divorce 311 


Her first impulse was to hurry downstairs and 
look out to see if any one had climbed from Gio- 
vanna’s window to the roof below, which, in turn, 
gave on another and still lower roof. But she re- 
strained herself, reflecting very sensibly that if Gio- 
vanna saw that she was suspected she would in- 
stantly be on her guard. ‘“ No, no; this is a time 
to dissemble, old Martina; to pretend, spy, listen, 
watch—and then?” What was to happen after- 
wards? The afterwards suggested such a multitude 
of wretched possibilities that the old woman threw 
herself on her bed in a torment of ‘agonised con- 
jecture. 

What would Brontu do if he knew? Poor 
Brontu! With all his violent temper he was such 
a good fellow at bottom, and so tremendously in 
love with Giovanna! But there it was; he was so 
much in love with Giovanna that he would be per- 
fectly capable of committing some crime should he 
suspect her constancy. Then, what would become 
of him? thought Aunt Martina. “Ah, it will be 
far better for him to know nothing of all this trouble. 
I will implore Giovanna to be loyal, and not to betray 
her poor husband. And then—suppose, after all, 
I should be mistaken! Suppose she really was talk- 
ing to the baby! Eh, no, no! Some one else was 
there, and it could have been no one but Costantino. 
Oh, wretched creature! accursed beggar! Is this 
your gratitude towards those who have fed and 
clothed and nourished you? But never mind, we 


312 After the Divorce 


will pay you back! We will drive you out of this 
house with a whip, naked as when you came into 
it!” And thus, torn by successive impulses of 
hatred, pity, fury, and despair, Aunt Martina 
dragged through the weary night. 

One significant circumstance she did recall—that 
Costantino was said to be on good terms with Aunt 
Bachissia, Giovanna’s mother. Some time pre- 
viously he had set to work in earnest; had rented 
a little shop, and was making a good deal of money 
by his trade of shoemaking. A repulsive thought 
came into the old woman’s head. What if Aunt 
Bachissia knew and encouraged her daughter’s inti- 
macy with her first husband! ‘ The old harpy de- 
tests us,” said Brontu’s mother to herself. ‘‘ Per- 
haps Costantino makes her presents! ”’ 

Daybreak found her still wide-eyed and sleep- 
less. Getting up, she went out to examine the wall 
above which rose the roofs leading to Giovanna’s 
window. Not a trace was to be found of any one 
having been on it. The dawn was exquisitely tran- 
quil and beautiful; the village was still asleep, and 
the fields lay bathed in soft grey haze beneath a 
silver sky. Aunt Martina drew a deep breath; she 
felt as though she had awakened from a horrible 
dream; the utter peace and serenity of the early 
morning seemed to communicate itself to her dis- 
tracted spirit. Then, on a sudden, happening to 
raise her eyes to Giovanna’s window, she saw the 
young woman watching her. Instantly the convic- 


After the Divorce 313 


tion flashed across her that she too had lain awake 
the entire night; that she too was looking now to 
see if any tell-tale traces remained to betray the 
fact that she had had a visitor, and more than that, 
that she now was fully aware of Aunt Martina’s 
suspicions. Across the space that divided them, the 
two women exchanged a look of mutual fear and 
hatred. War was declared! 


The battle opened in ominous calm, each side 
marshalling its forces in silence and secrecy. Aunt 
Martina’s efforts were directed to allaying Gio- 
-vanna’s suspicions in the hope that she might some 
day surprise her and her lover together. Giovanna, 
perfectly awake to her mother-in-law’s tactics, pre- 
tended not to notice anything, but at the same time 
proceeded: with great caution in her relations with 
Costantino. 

He had entirely altered his mode of life; he now 
worked regularly, and was doing very well; but 
underneath everything was a sense of unutterable 
melancholy, which he was never able wholly to 
throw off. 

“T am doing everything I can to provoke Brontu 
to break with me,” said Giovanna one day. “I 
want him to apply for a divorce, so as to be rid 
of me; then I will go back to you, beloved, and 
nothing shall ever part us again. I will be your 
servant, your slave—and make you forget all your 
past sorrows.” 


314 After the Divorce 


But Costantino only smiled wearily. It was true 
that he still loved Giovanna, but it was a very dif- 
ferent kind of love from that which she had for- 
merly inspired in him. Now, there was more of 
passion, perhaps, but it did not go so deep, and he 
knew, though he could not tell her so, that even 
were she free to return to him as his wife, he could 
never be happy again as in the old days. She was 
not the woman to whom he had given his heart, 
but another and a very different person. One who, 
having been false to both husbands in succession, 
was now, perhaps, deceiving them simultaneously. 

Often Costantino was seized with an access of 
rage against the entire human race, Giovanna in- 
cluded. He would have liked to murder some one 
—Brontu, or Aunt Bachissia, or even Giovanna, in 
order to avenge himself for what he had been made 
to suffer. And yet, all the time, he knew himself 
to be quite incapable of doing anything brutal or 
violent, and raged and fumed the more at his own 
weakness. His heart seemed to have sunk into a 
state of torpor, and to have lost the power to enjoy 
acutely. 

Uncle Isidoro was now constantly urging him to 
marry again, much as such an act would be con- 
trary to his own principles. 

“T have one wife already,” Costantino would re- 
ply. “ What could I do with another? Have her 
betray me too? All women are exactly alike.” 

Then Uncle Isidoro would sigh, and remain silent. 


After the Divorce 315 


He was in constant dread lest some new tragedy 
should befall. He was aware, partly from intuition 
and partly because Costantino himself allowed him 
to have an inkling of the truth, that the young man 
was holding secret intercourse with his former wife, 
and his daily fear was of some explosion. Thus, 
he argued to himself that if Costantino could only 
be induced to marry some gentle, affectionate young 
woman, who would bear him children, he would 
come in time to forget the other one, and find rest 
and peace. To these suggestions, however, Cos- 
tantino only gave the same weary smile that had 
now become habitual. 

“Are you afraid that I will murder some one? ”’ 
he asked, divining the old man’s nervous terrors. 
** No, no; there is no need to feel alarmed now; mat- 
ters are going too much to my taste just at present 
for me to do anything to disturb the current.” 

The current was, however, in a fair way to be 
disturbed after that night on which Aunt Martina 
made her discovery. 

On the following day Costantino went, as his 
frequent custom now was, to Aunt Bachissia’s cot- 
tage. 

He had no liking for the old woman who had 
been chiefly instrumental in bringing about Gio- 
vanna’s divorce; there were even moments when the 
thought of strangling his ex-mother-in-law got into 
his blood, filling his veins with a sensation of al- 
most voluptuous joy. But he went there, neverthe- 


316 After the Divorce 


less, mainly because he took a dreary pleasure in 
living over the past in that little cottage where he 
had once been so happy. Moreover, he enjoyed 
listening to Aunt Bachissia’s never-ending abuse of 
everything connected with the house of Dejas. 

Did the old woman know of her daughter’s re- 
newed relations with Costantino? Neither of them 
had said a word to her on the subject; yet, like Isi- 
doro, she suspected how matters stood, though, un- 
like him, she made no effort to interfere. Costan- 
tino had made her a present of a pair of shoes, 
and from time to time he performed other little 
services for her. Had he asked her to allow him 
to meet Giovanna in her house, it is quite possible 
that she would have offered no objection; but up 
to the present time he had neither told nor asked 
her anything. 

On this day, however, he arrived visibly anxious 
and perturbed, and Aunt Bachissia, who was sitting 
by the door spinning, laid down her spindle and 

gave him a steady look out of her sharp little eyes. 
_ Night was falling, and Costantino, who had 
worked hard all day, was tired, sad, unhappy. The 
soft brilliance of the summer night, the silence of 
the little house, the peaceful solitude of the common, 
the warm, sweet breath of the evening, all combined 
to create a flood of homesickness for the past, and 
an acute sense of present misery that was well-nigh 
unbearable. He threw himself down on a stool and 
rested his elbows on his knees and his forehead on 


After the Divorce 317 


his interlocked hands. For a few moments neither 
of them spoke; the man was thinking of Malthi- 
neddu, of his little dead child; he seemed to see 
him then, playing before the door, and hot tears 
trembled in his eyes. 

“Do you know,” said Aunt Bachissia suddenly, 
“the old colt is going crazy?”’ 

“Who?” asked Costantino. 

“Who? Why, the old miser, Martina Dejas. 
She got up out of her bed last night, and went and 
banged on my Giovanna’s door. She said she heard 
some one talking to her. Upon my soul, fancy such 
a thing! She has gone entirely mad; she always 
was half so.” 

“Ah!” was all that Costantino said. 

“ Listen, my soul,” said Aunt Bachissia, lowering 


her voice. ‘“ Giovanna tells me that the old colt 
suspects———” 

“What?” asked Costantino, raising pe head 
quickly. 


“Suspects that you and Giovanna—you under- 
stand? She has not said a word, the old maniac, 
but Giovanna has guessed that she has some idea 
in her head, and on that account ve 

“IT understand,” said Costantino. 

He did understand. Evidently Giovanna had 
taken this method of warning him that they would 
have to be prudent. 

“And so, my soul,” Aunt Bachissia went on, 
“for the present it will be as well for you to stop 





318 After the Divorce 


coming here—just so as not to arouse suspicions. 
I will go every once in a while to see you—for a 
chat, you know. Ah!” she gave a weary sigh, 
““you—yes, you are a man! Look at you, standing 
there now, as tall and handsome as a banner! 
When I think of that little freak of nature—Brontu 
Dejas—I declare, I wonder what on earth Gio- 
vanna could have been thinking of to—forget you. 
Ah, if she had only listened to me!” 

Costantino, who had risen and was standing in 
the doorway, crimsoned with anger when he heard 
these outrageous lies being calmly offered for his 
acceptance, 

“Hold your tongue,” he began in a hoarse voice. 
But Aunt Bachissia was not listening; she was look- 
ing intently up at the white house; presently she 
whispered : “ Look, my soul, we are being watched 
now. Giovanna is right. Do you see the old harpy 
peering at us? Oh! I could tear out her eyes!”’ 

Sure enough the figure of Aunt Martina could be 
seen lurking in the shadow of the portico. For the 
moment Costantino, who had never really borne 
any especial ill-will towards Brontu’s mother, felt 
all the anger, and sorrow, and rebelliousness in his 
nature concentrate into one bitter longing to do the 
old woman some bodily harm. He would dearly 
have liked to make a wild dash across the common, 
fall upon her without warning, and tear her eyes 
out, as Aunt Bachissia had said. 

“ Never mind, let her alone,” said the latter. 


After the Divorce 319 


“Giovanna has told me that she is doing every- 
thing she can to make them ill-use her and drive 
her out of the house. Then we will apply for an- 
other divorce—you, my soul, all you have to do 
is to be careful and—wait.”’ 

“What have I to wait for?”’ he asked cabin 
“ Nothing can happen now that J want.” 

She said something more, but he was not listen- 
ing. Standing erect and motionless on the threshold 
of the door that had once been his door, he stared 
across at the portico of the Dejas house, feeling 
even more desolate and forlorn than usual. So, 
then, his one remaining consolation, that of holding 
intercourse with Giovanna, was about to be torn 
from him, and by the same people who had stolen 
from him everything else that made life pleasant; 
moreover they might deprive him even of life itself 
should he continue his relations with her who really 
was his own wife! 

Ah, Dejas! accursed race! Yes, now the old 
mother as well was included in his hatred of that 
house, and the longing to cross the common, fling 
himself on the portico, and make the still summer 
evening resound with her shrill screams of agony, at 
last overmastered him. With a sudden movement, 
right in the middle of one of Aunt Bachissia’s sen- 
tences, he stepped out into the twilight, and with 
rapid strides began to cross the common. When he 
had gone about half-way, he stopped, stood motion- 
less for a moment, and then, altering his direction, 


320 After the Divorce 


walked away. Aunt Bachissia watched his figure as 
it was slowly swallowed up by the shadows; and 
the silence and languor of the dusk deepened into 
night. 

After that evening Costantino visited her cottage 
no more. 


One day, towards the end of October, Uncle Isi- 
doro Pane had an unexpected visitor. The old fisher- 
man, seated before his fireplace, was getting supper 
ready for himself and Costantino, who still made 
his home with him. Outside, the air felt almost 
cold, the wind was rising, and long, violet-coloured 
clouds were flying across the clear, greenish, west- 
ern sky. Uncle Isidoro was thinking sadly of that 
evening when, amid the chanting of the women, 
they had interred Giacobbe Dejas in the dungheap. 
The earthen pot bubbled on the fire, and from with- 
out came the melancholy rustling of the fig-tree and 
the bushes, shaken by the wind. All at once a low 
knock came on the door. 

“Who is there?” asked Uncle Isidoro. 

“ Ave Maria!” The salutation came from Aunt 
Martina Dejas, who now, after satisfying herself 
that the old man was entirely alone, entered and 
cautiously closed the door behind her. 

“Oh, Martina! Grazia plena!’’ responded the 
fisherman, astonished to see who his visitor was. 

Her head and shoulders were completely envel- 
oped in a petticoat worn in lieu of a shawl; her 


After the Divorce 321 


features were paler and more gaunt even than 
ordiriary, and to Isidoro she seemed to have aged 
greatly. 

“* Sit down, Martina Dejas,” said he politely, of- 
fering her a stool. “ What good wind blows you 
here? ”’ 

“ Tt’s an ill wind,” she replied. Then, looking all 
around her, she said: “I want to talk to you pri- 
vately ; can any one hear us? Where is he?” 

“ Still at the shop; he does not get back till 
later.” 

“ Listen,” said the old woman, seating herself; 
“you can probably guess what it is that brings 
me here?” © 

“No, I cannot guess, Martina Dejas,’” declared 
the other, though all the time he knew very well. 
“ But why didn’t you send for me? I would have 
gone to your house.”’ 

“ At my house there is some one who has the 
ears of a hare; she can hear through a stone wall. 
Now, listen—I don’t suppose I have to make you 
promise not to tell any one? You wouldn’t betray . 
my confidence, would you?” 

“T will not betray you.” 

“You are a man of the Lord, Isidoro Pane; a 
very dreadful thing has happened; will you help 
me to set it right?” 

“Tf I can,” he said, spreading out his arms and 
hands. “ Tell me about it!” 

The old woman sighed. 


322 After the Divorce 


“Tell you about it! Yes,” she said, “that is 
what I am going to do, Isidoro; but what I have to 
say burns my lips, and you are the only human 
being I would breathe it to. A terrible misfortune 
has overtaken my house. Do you see how old I 
have grown? For months I have not been able to 
close my eyes. Giovanna, my daughter-in-law, has 
a lover—Costantino Ledda. You don’t seem sur- 
prised!” she added quickly, seeing that the other 
remained unmoved. ‘ You knew it already! Some 
one has known about it! Perhaps there are others 
too—perhaps every one knows the disgrace of my 
house! ”’ 

“Easy, easy; don’t be frightened. I did not 
_know it, and I don’t think any one else does. It 
may not be true, either, but if it were, and people 
knew about it—no one would be surprised.” 

“No one would be surprised!” 

“Certainly not, Martina Dejas; no one at all. 
Every one knows perfectly well—pardon me if I 
speak frankly—that Giovanna married your son 
entirely from motives of self-interest. Now Cos- 
tantino has come back; they were in love with one 
another before, and now they are in love with one 
another after; it is perfectly natural.” 

“It is perfectly natural! How can you say such 
things, Isidoro Pane? Is it perfectly natural for 
a woman to be unfaithful? For a beggar taken in 
out of the streets to betray her benefactors? Is it 
perfectly natural that my son, Brontu Dejas, who 


After the Divorce 323 


had the courage to do what not another soul would 
have dreamed of doing—is it natural that he should 
be deceived? ”’ 

“Yes, it is all natural.” 

“ Ah,” exclaimed Aunt Martina, getting up, her 
eyes flashing with anger, “then it was quite useless 
for me to come here!” 

“ Easy, easy!”’ said the old man again. “ Just sit 
down, Martina, and tell me quietly what brought 
you. Let us put all these questions aside—they 
are of no use now, anyhow—and discuss the situa- 
tion as it is. I think I can guess what it is you 
want me to do; you want me to use my influence 
with Costantino to get him to leave your family in 
peace——?”’ 

The old woman sat down again, and opened her 
heart. .Yes, that was what she wanted, that Isi- 
doro should do all he could to induce Costantino 
to give Giovanna up. 

“This misery will kill me,’ she said in conclu- 
sion, her voice trembling; ‘“ but at least my Brontu 
will have been spared. Ah, if he should ever find 
out about it, he is lost! He is sure to kill some 
one, either Giovanna or Costantino. I am continu- 
ally haunted by the most horrible presentiments; I 
keep seeing a smear of blood before my eyes. You 
will see, Isidoro; you will see! If we don’t find 
some way to stop this shameful thing, some horrible 
tragedy will occur——!” 

As she talked, Aunt Martina had been growing 


324 After the Divorce 


steadily paler, until she was now quite livid; her 
lips trembled, and her eyes gleamed partly with 
anger, partly with unshed tears. 

“You alarm me, and you make me feel very 
sorry for you as well,” said Uncle Isidoro gravely. 
“But see here, whose fault is it all? I remember 
—this visit of yours brings it all back to me— 
another visit I once had; it was from Giacobbe De- 
jas, poor soul, Well, he sat there, just where you 
are sitting now, and he said almost the same words: 
‘We must find some way to stop this thing; if we 
don’t, some terrible misfortune will surely happen! ’ 
And so we did; we tried our best to stop that shame- 
ful thing, but without avail. You and your son, 
and all the rest of you, were determined to bring 
about your own ruin. You fell into mortal sin; 
you broke the laws of God, and now your punish- 
ment has come!” 

“We! only we!” exclaimed the old woman 
haughtily. ‘‘ No; the fault belongs to them as well. 
To Bachissia Era, for her avarice and wickedness 
in throwing her daughter at Brontu; and to Gio- 
vanna, for abandoning her first husband when she 
loved him, and marrying another out of self-interest ! 
The blame belongs equally to all, or, rather, it does 
not; it is theirs alone, for we did nothing but what 
was good. It is theirs, theirs, and I hate every one 
of them—vile, low-born beggars—traitors. And 
I can tell you, if Costantino does not give this thing 
up, he’ll bitterly regret it. Beg, implore, adjure 


After the Divorce 325 


him! Tell him not to bring ruin on a respectable 
house, and then,—if he will not listen 44 

“Hush, Martina,” begged the fisherman, seeing 
that she was working herself into a fury. ‘“ Don’t 
talk foolishness. But tell me, are you really certain 
that Giovanna and Costantino are meeting each 
other?” 

“Absolutely certain. For three months now, 
as I told you, I have hardly closed my eyes. One 
night I heard some one talking to Giovanna. She 
saw right away that I had noticed something, and 
for a while she was on her guard. But now— 
now she has thrown aside all prudence. The other 
day they met at Bachissia Era’s cottage; I saw 
them plainly; and not only that, I heard them; 
I listened at the door. Then, last night he was with 
her again; do you understand? actually in my house, 
beneath my roof! And I—I was trembling so 
with rage I hardly knew what I was about; but 
I waited for him below; I was going to speak to 
him, and then I was going to stab him—kill him, if 
I could—I had a knife ready in my hand. But do 
you know, I could not stir a limb! I could not 
even open my lips when he crept down as stealthily 
as a thief, first on to the roof, and then the ground, 
and away! Ah, I am nothing but a poor old woman; 
I can’t do a thing. I was just frightened, and I 
hid. Giovanna knows that I care more for Brontu 
than for anything else in the world, and that I 
would sacrifice everything to spare him, even the 





326 After the Divorce 


honour of our name. And so the ungrateful crea- 
ture is taking advantage of the tenderest feeling 
that I have. She is counting on my being afraid 
to tell him for fear that he will commit murder, 
and so be ruined forever, and that is why she dares 
to carry it on. But I—I—Isidoro, I will be capable 
of doing almost anything if Costantino does not 
break this off. Tell him so.” 

“But why don’t you speak to Giovanna?” asked 
the fisherman. ! 

“* Because—well, I’m afraid of her. She follows — 
me about and watches me all the time like a tigress 
ready to spring. She hates me, just as I hate her 
at times; and at the very first word she would fly 
at me and choke me to death. I don’t dare to open 
my mouth. Oh, it is all so horrible! You don’t 
know what days I pass! Death would be far less 
bitter than the life I am leading.” 

As she spoke these words, Aunt Martina buried 
her face in her hands and began to sob. 

A feeling of intense pity rose in the old fisher- 
man’s heart. In the days of his most grinding pov- 
erty he had never been reduced to tears, and to 
think of the rich, proud Martina Dejas being actu- 
ally more wretched than an old pauper like himself! 

“T will do my very best,’ he said. ‘ Now go, 
and try not to worry. You had better get off at 
once, though; it is time for him to be coming back.” 
She got up, wrapped the petticoat carefully around 
her head and shoulders, and when Isidoro had 


After the Divorce 327 


looked out to make sure that no one was about who 
might recognise her, walked slowly away. 

The air was sharp; the wind was blowing in gusts, 
tearing the first dead leaves from the trees. Aunt 
Martina, struggling against it, felt more anxious 
and depressed even than when she came. It seemed 
as though that chill, autumn wind that shook and 
lashed and tore her, were tearing and lashing her 
spirit as well. The presentiments of evil that she 
had spoken of as haunting her, were stronger than 
ever. Passing a certain wretched little hovel, more 
forlorn and poverty-stricken than any of the others, 
she shot a keen glance at it, and then quickly low- 
ered her eyes, as though in dread lest some invisible 
being should read the dark thought of her soul. The 
owner of this hovel, a poor peasant, had come to 
her some time before, and had asked her to lend him 
some money. “ Lend it to you!” she had exclaimed 
derisively. “And how do you propose to repay 
it?’ “If I can’t pay you back in money,” the man 
had replied, “ there may be some other way of show- 
ing my gratitude. You could require any service 
at all of me.” : 

She understood what he meant. He was ready 
to undertake anything, even the commission of a 
crime, in order to get the money he needed. But 
she had not wanted anything, and so had sent him 
off. Now, passing the forlorn little house, rapidly 
falling into ruins, through the darkness and wind, 
and melancholy of the night, she saw again before 


328 After the Divorce 


her the gaunt, resolute figure of this man; his hol- 
low, sunken eyes; his lips, white from hunger; his 
dark, bony hands, ready for any act by which he 
might hope to snatch a little ease and comfort out 
of life; and the horrible schemes of vengeance that 
were tearing at her selfish old heart began to take 
a fearful and well-defined shape. 

Thus she passed on. A dark, forbidding form, 
enveloped in her black tunic, swept by the wind 
past that wretched hovel like a shadowy portent of 
evil. 


That same evening Uncle Isidoro reasoned with 
Costantino at length, urging him by every argument 
at his command to avert what otherwise must in- 
evitably result in a catastrophe for himself, for Gio- 
vanna, and for every one concerned. 

Costantino regarded the old man steadily with 
his usual melancholy smile. “ What,” he demanded, 
“could happen? You admit yourself that the old 
harpy will never talk to her son. And—isn’t she 
my wife, Giovanna? Haven't I a perfect right to 
be with her whenever I choose?” 

“Ah, child of the Lord,” sighed Uncle Isidoro, 
clasping his hands and shaking his head, “ you will 
be made to suffer for it in some way; you had better 
look out: Martina Dejas is capable of anything 
where her son is concerned.” 

A look of hatred came into Costantino’s eyes. 

“ Listen,” he said; ‘‘ my heart is like a vessel full 


After the Divorce 329 


of deadly poison; a single drop more and it will 
overflow. Let them look out who have brought all 
this on themselves.” Then he got up and went out 
into the night. For hours he wandered aimlessly 
about, like one who had lost his way, in the wind- 
swept solitude. Then, about midnight, he found 
himself, almost without knowing how he got there, 
as on that first evening, beneath Giovanna’s win- 
dow. He climbed on the shed and tapped. 

Aunt Martina, lying wakeful and alert, heard 
everything; heard Costantino approach, heard his 
knock, heard Giovanna open to him; and then she 
knew it was hopeless. Without doubt Isidoro had 
faithfully reported his conversation with her, and 
this was Costantino’s reply: he had come directly 
and defiantly to Giovanna. “ No doubt,” thought 
the old woman bitterly, “he argues that since old 
Martina lacks the courage to make her son unhappy 
by telling him the truth, he may as well profit by 
her weakness. Yes; no doubt that is what he thinks. 
But, he has forgotten to take account of what the 
poor old mother may be stirred up to do in order 
to protect her boy! Now, Costantino Ledda, it is 
between us two!” 

One night as Costantino slid down from the shed 
beneath Giovanna’s window, he felt something cold 
and sharp enter his side; in the darkness he made 
out the figure of a man, his face covered with a 
black cloth. He threw himself upon him, and after 
a brief struggle, breathless, silent, determined, he 


330 After the Divorce 


succeeded in throwing him down and disarming 
him. Then he let him go without so much as at- 
tempting to identify him. What did it signify who 
the assassin was? Behind that black mask he knew 
only too well that Aunt Martina’s gaunt features 
looked out, and that it was her hand that had di- 
rected the murderous stroke. 

He made his way back to Isidoro’s hut, and, the 
fisherman being absent on one of his journeys, 
dressed the wound himself, hiding away like a 
stricken animal, and concealing what had happened 
from every one. He did not even undress, but for 
three days and nights lay stretched on his pallet, 
a prey to the bitterest reflections. 

The weather had become cold; outside, the wind 
whistled among the dry hedges, and, forcing its 
way into the hut, made the long threads of cobweb 
swing back and forth, and brought down clouds of 
dust from the roof. Through the window Costan- 
tino could see processions of pale blue clouds scud- 
ding across the cold, bright background of the sky; 
and he said to himself that he wanted to die. 

Death, death, what else remained for him? The 
worlad-—his world—was now only a cold and empty 
void. 

His feeling for Giovanna could never be what it 
once had been; he had, indeed, resumed his relations 
with her, but she could never mean the same thing 
to him again after having deserted him in his hour 
of need. The very pleasure which he felt in their 


After the Divorce 34% 


clandestine intercourse was due in part to his hatred 
of the Dejases. The Dejases! The mere thought 
of the joy which his death would afford them, even 
now, aroused him and put new life into his veins! 

“They have stolen everything else of mine,’ he 
thought, ‘and now they want to take my life as 
well. But they shan’t have it; I will kill one of them 
first.” He recalled a trial at which he had once been 
present, where the accused had proved that he had 
been attacked, and had struck back in order to de- 
fend himself; the jury had acquitted him. “ Well, 
they will acquit me; I shall be striking in self-de- 
fence. And if they don’t acquit me——!”’ There 
arose before him the faces of his fellow-convicts. 
The King of Spades smiled at him lugubriously, and 
behind him he could see the gloomy walls of the 
prison courtyard. At least, though, they had been 
friendly; they might have been murderers, but they 
had never tried to assassinate him. 

On the third day of his seclusion in Uncle Isi- 
doro’s hut a storm came up. Nothing could ex- 
ceed the comfortless desolation of the poor little 
abode. The black clouds travelling overhead seemed 
to break directly against the small, bare window; 
presently some big drops fell from the roof; one 
leak in especial, directly over the black, cold fire- 
place was so persistent that at last, seeing that the 
water was forming into a thin stream, the young 
man reached out and shoved Uncle Isidoro’s earth- 
enware saucepan beneath it. Drip, drip, drip, the 


332 After the Divorce 


sound was like the monotonous and melancholy tick- 
ing of aclock. Night descended, if anything colder 
and more dreary than before; the rain came down 
steadily, and the drops fell into the saucepan with 
the regularity of a machine. Costantino did not 
move; he had neither wood wherewith to build a 
fire, nor any more food, and it did not occur to 
him to get up, to bestir himself, to go out, to live. 
Perhaps Uncle Isidoro was stalled in some neigh- 
bouring village by the storm, and would not get 
back, 

During the night fever set in, and Costantino 
was racked by hideous dreams, painful memories 
of the past, tempests of anger, mingled with physi- 
cal suffering. How long he lay in this condition he 
could never remember, only he recollected hearing 
the steady drip, drip of the water as it fell into the 
saucepan, the beating of the rain on the roof, and 
the long sob of the wind as it swept about the de- 
serted house. In the intervals of the fever, when 
he would arouse from the lethargy that weighed him 
down, he was conscious of sharp, shooting pains 
through all his limbs, similar to those he had felt 
in prison on awaking after a feverish night; and 
also of a savage, animal desire to do some harm, 
to fling himself on some one or some thing, and 
bite, and tear, and destroy. Another day and night 
went by. The rain was falling more heavily than 
ever, and that steady, inexorable drip, drip had 
at last filled and overflowed the saucepan. Between 


After the Divorce 333 


cold and starvation Costantino had almost come to 
the end of his forces. Once he was visited by a 
horrid illusion. He thought that a mad dog had 
thrown him down and bitten him in the stomach. 
He awoke shaking, and could not throw the idea 
off ; perhaps he had been bitten by a mad dog, and 
this was hydrophobia! Towards evening the storm 
died down, though the rain did not cease entirely. 
Then, suddenly, he felt that he was dying; he had 


no sense of rebellion now; all that was over; he’ 


seemed to have lost even the power to care. To die, 


to die—Why should he want to go on living? | 


Everything both within him and about him was 
black and void. Through all his fever-ridden dreams 
one idea had remained persistently by him—that 
he was about to commit a crime. Now it was Aunt 
Martina: whom he was on the point of stabbing; 
then some one else; but in the intervals of conscious- 
ness he realised that should he live, should he once 
more find himself burdened with the dolorous gift 
of existence, while he would not even attempt to 
resist the secret force that was urging him on, it 
would matter little against whom his fury expended 
itself ; it might be Aunt Martina, or Brontu, or some 
one else. But then—then—deep down in his soul 
he could never rid himself of a sense of terror of 
what would happen afterwards. Yes; he wanted 
to die, so as to suffer no more and to be saved from 
becoming a murderer. 

At last the rain was ceasing; it still fell steadily, 


pa 


334 After the Divorce 


but more, now, like a gentle shower, while the wind 
had died down completely. It was cold, though, 
and the damp, chill atmosphere hung over the cabin 
like a heavy wet cloth. So unutterably dreary were 
the weather and the surroundings that Costantino, 
recalling the periods of his most acute misery, could 
never remember being so utterly and hopelessly 
wretched as now. Not even on the day of the sen- 
tence, not even on the day when they had told him 
of the divorce, nor on that other day of his return: 
for on every one of those occasions, desperate as 
the outlook had been, there always remained the 
hope of better things in the life to come. Then his 
conscience had been pure; but now, should he go 
on living, he believed that he would surely forfeit 
all hope in the life to come. At times, goaded by 
this horror, he would cry aloud, imploring death to 
come and save him, as a terrified child cries for its 
mother. 

Thus the hours wore on; he had dropped into 
a feverish sleep, but awoke suddenly, trembling with 
terror at he could not tell what. The rain was over 
at last, but in the profound stillness that enwrapped 
him, Costantino fancied that he still heard it beat- 
ing on the roof, and the drip, drip from the leak 
over the fireplace; only now the sounds seemed to 
come from far, far away, from a world that was 
already remote. He thought that he was already 
dead, or lingering on the extremest confines of life, 
in a place of shadows, of silence, of mystery. What 


After the Divorce 335 


would he find there—just beyond? The light of 
eternity, or—the darkness of eternity? He was 
afraid to open his eyes; he tried to cry out, but 
could not utter a sound. Then—a knock came on 
the door. The sound dragged him back from that 
vague tide on which he was floating; he opened 
his eyes without moving, conscious both of relief 
and regret at finding himself still alive. 

The knocking was repeated louder than before. 
Who could it be? Not Uncle Isidoro; he would 
have called out. 

Costantino neither stirred nor spoke. Possibly 
he had not the strength to get up, but in any case 
he had no wish to. Why must they come to dis- 
turb him? dragging him back from those mysterious 
shores on which he had almost set foot. 

Meanwhile the knocking continued still more vig- 
orously, but after a little it ceased, and everything 
became perfectly still. A short time elapsed; then 
some one again approached the hut; presently the 
end of a stout stick was thrust under the door, serv- 
ing as a lever; the frail barrier, secured only by a 
metal hasp, quickly yielded, and the figure of a 
woman, with a skirt thrown over her head and 
shoulders, appeared for a moment in the opening; 
stepping inside, she turned and replaced the rick- 
ety door before Costantino was able to recognise 
her. There was a moment of breathless silence, 
during which he could hear his visitor groping her 
way about, in the pitchy darkness, on the other side 


336 After the Divorce 


of the hut; then she spoke, and he recognised the 
voice of Aunt Bachissia. 

“Costantino! Are you there? Where are you? 
‘ Are you dead or alive? Why don’t you answer? 
Some one said you had not been seen for three 
days, and that Isidoro Pane was away. I came once 
before and knocked and knocked, but you wouldn’t 
answer. What’s the matter? are you sick?” 

Still he made no reply, burying his face like a 
sulky child. 

“My soul!” moaned the woman, “he must be 
ill as well.” 

As well! Then some one else was ill! Who, he 
wondered. Perhaps Giovanna. He listened in- 
tently, still keeping his face covered. 

“He has no fire and no light!” she muttered. 
“What does it all mean? Wait, I’ll strike a light. 
Where are my matches?” 

The pale, blue flame of a.sulphur match shot 
up for a moment, and then suddenly died away. 

Costantino could see nothing, but he heard Aunt 
Bachissia stumbling her way towards him, moaning : 
“ Costantino, Costantino!” 

A wave of anger swept over him; he tried to 
cry out, to rise and fling himself upon her, choke 
her—but he was powerless. A cold sweat broke 
out all over him, and he knew that if he attempted 
so much as to speak, he would burst into tears. 
How hatefully weak he was! 

Aunt Bachissia struck another match, and began 


After the Divorce 2377 


searching for a light of some sort, but all she could 
find was a rude iron lamp hanging on a nail, with 
neither wick nor oil. Then she groped her way 
to the fireplace, and, stooping down, held out her 
hand with the lighted match between her fingers. 
There were the saucepan full of water, the heap of 
wet ashes, the soaked hearthstone, and beyond, half 
in the circle of light, the figure of Costantino ex- 
tended motionless on the pallet. The match flared 
up and then went out, and all became again per- 
fectly dark and silent. : 

For a moment Aunt Bachissia did not stir; she 
hardly seemed to breathe; then a long, choking sob 
broke from her. 

Of what had she been thinking in that moment of 
silence and darkness? Did that vision of Costan- 
tino lying apparently dead before her awaken a 
sudden, agonising sense of what she had done; of 
her iniquitous responsibility in the ruin that had 
been wrought in Giovanna’s and Costantino’s lives, 
and in the lives of every one concerned in the melan- 
choly drama? Throwing herself on the floor beside 
the pallet, she passed her hands tremblingly over 
his body and face, sobbing in the darkness and si- 
lence: ‘‘ Costantino, Costantino! are you alive? 
Answer me—— Yes,” she murmured presently, 
“he is alive, but ill, ill—you are ill, aren’t you?” 
she went on coaxingly. ‘Is ita wound? Ah, God! 
If you only knew what terrible things have hap- 
pened! Giovanna sent me; she was frightened, 


338 After the Divorce 


you know; she thought you might have been hurt, 
that some one might have been lying in wait for 
you; she’s more dead than alive herself—Costan- 
tino——!”’ 

At last Costantino gave a moan; something hard 
in his breast seemed to melt; he was moved—af- 
fected. Then he was not forgotten, after all; Gio- 
vanna had been anxious; she had sent to find out 
about him; she was frightened, unhappy. Then, in 
his changed mood, Aunt Bachissia’s words of a 
moment before came back to him with fresh mean- 
ing. ‘“‘ He is ill as well,’ she had said. Who was 
this other person who was ill? Again he thought 
of Giovanna, and his heart sank. 

“Ts it a wound?” she repeated. 

*“Yes,”” murmured Costantino. 

“ Who did it?” 

“T don’t know; some one hired by Aunt Mar- 
tina Dejas.” 

“ Ah!” cried Aunt Bachissia, her voice thick with 
anger; then, in a changed tone, she said: “ The 
saying goes that God does not pay on Saturday— 
well,—Brontu Dejas is dying—poor wretch!” 

Costantino felt as though an electric shock had 
gone through him; he started to his feet, swayed, 
and fell back on his knees. In the darkness his 
hands encountered those of Aunt Bachissia, and she 
felt that they were scorching hot and trembling. 

“Costantino! my soul!” she cried, alarmed lest 
in his weak and exhausted condition the shock of 


After the Divorce 339 


her news had been too great for him. “ Costan- 
tino, what is it? You are shaking all over like a 
little kid! Yes; Brontu is very ill. He came back 
yesterday ; it was a holiday, you know, and he came 
home so drunk that he was like something crazy. 
It seems that he has been drinking all the time lately, 
even up at the sheepfolds. So then yesterday when 
he came in he was horribly drunk, and he began 
quarrelling with his mother and Giovanna, and 
tried to beat them ; they were so frightened that they 
ran up and locked themselves in their rooms. 
Brontu stayed down in the kitchen, and he must 
have stretched himself out alongside the fire. After 
some time they heard him crying out, but they 
thought it was just some drunken foolishness, and 
did not go down to see what it was. After a 
while, though, when he had become quiet, Aunt Mar- 
tina went and found him lying there unconscious 
and frightfully burned. He had evidently fallen 
asleep and had put his legs right over the fire,* 
and then his clothing caught. There was an empty 
brandy bottle lying beside him. He hasn’t come to 
since, and the doctor says he can’t live through the 
night. Poor Brontu; he wasn’t bad; he was weak, 
but not really bad—Costantino! Costantino !—what 
on earth is it? What are you doing?” 

For in the darkness Aunt Bachissia, who had 

*In Sardinia the fireplaces almost always consist of four 


stones placed so as to form a square in the centre of the 
kitchen. They have no chimneys. 


340 After the Divorce 


told her story with moans and sighs of sympathy, 
partly for Costantino, partly for Brontu, heard 
what she at first took to be a burst of insane laugh- 
ter. The young man’s hands became rigid, his limbs 
contracted, and for one wild moment she thought 
he had lost his reason. Then the truth broke upon 
her; he was crying, weeping bitterly, half from 
weakness and reaction, but half, too, from horror 
and sympathy at the awful ending of a man whom, 
but a short while before, he had thought that he 
hated so much that he was in danger of killing 
him. 


That same night Brontu died, and some time 
later Giovanna and Costantino were reunited. Old 
Aunt Martina, absorbed in her grief and completely 
shattered by it, like an oak-tree that has been struck 
by lightning, offered no objection, but neither did 
she forgive the young people, and she demanded 
that the little Mariedda should be left under her 
care. Thus the two, the old woman and the child, 
lived on in the white house, while Giovanna and 
Costantino returned to the little grey cottage. 
There, after a time, another child was born to 
them—Malthineddu. 


It is a soft spring day. Overhead the sky is a 
tender blue, and all around the village the fields of 
grain sway like the waves of a green, encircling 
sea. Aunt Martina sits on the portico, spinning, 


After the Divorce 341 


and praying silently; a white, tragic figure, spiritu- 
alised by sorrow. 

Aunt Bachissia sits spinning likewise, before the 
door of the cottage. Giovanna is sewing, and hard 
by Costantino works at his bench. No one speaks, 
but the thoughts of all are turned on the past. 

In the middle of the common Mariedda and Mal- 
thineddu are playing together with gurgles and 
shouts of joyous laughter, as happy and unconcerned 
as the birds on the neighbouring hedges. 

Hither and thither they go, trotting from Aunt 
Martina to Costantino, from Aunt Bachissia to Gio- 
vanna, from Giovanna to Aunt Martina. And each 
in turn, even the desolate, heartbroken old grand- 
mother, looks up to receive them with a smile of 
tender indulgence. They are the invisible woof of 
peace and mutual forgiveness. 


THE END 





*¢ From any point of view it is an unusual novel, as much better 
than some of the ‘best sellers’ as a painting is better than a 
chromo.”’—World’s Work. 





THE 
IVIN 
| FIRE 
By MAY SINCLAIR 
$1.50 
The story of a London poet. 








Boston Transcript: “It is rare indeed to come across a novel in 
which there is so much genuine greatness.” 

N.¥V. Tribune, in notice of over a column; ‘ We venture to count 
the hero already among the memorable figures in romance, a 
great character ... breathlessly interes » eo. It ought to 

ive May Siuclair at once high rank among the novelists of the day. .. . 
A novel which it is a pleasure to praise.’’ 

Nation: ** The hero is + canbe interesting.” 

N.Y. Times Review: “... The story is as well written as it is 
strongly conceived.’’ Y 

N. Y. Post : * Told cleverly and well, and always with a frankness that 
carries conviction. The humorous element is not la ee 

Y. Globe : ‘‘ The biggest surprise of the whole season’s fiction.” 

Chicago Evening Post: “If you wish to be interested, amused, tor- 
mented, discouraged and finally satisfied, you will do well to read it.” 

Providence Journal: ** Rare artistic power. ...’”’ 


The Diary of a Musician 


Edited by DOLORES M. BACON 


With decorations and illustrations by CHARLES EDWARD 
Hooper and H. LATIMER BRowNn 


$1.50 











Authorities agree that no particular musical celebrity is 
described or satirized ; all review the book with enthusiasm, 
though some damn while others praise. 





Times Review; ** Of extraordinary interest as a study from the inside 
of the inwardness of a genius.” 

Bookman: ‘“* Much of that exquisite egotism, the huge, artistic Me and 
the tiny universe, that gluttony of the emotions, of the whole uliar 
compound of hysteria, inspiration, vanity, insight and fidgets, which goes 
to make up that delightful but somewhat rickety thing which we call the 
artistic temperament is reproduced. . . . The ‘ Diary of a Musician ’ does 
what most actual diaries fail to do—writes down a man in full.’”’ 








Henry Holt and Company 


Publishers (1, ’o5) New York 


Two Noteworthy Detective Stories by Burton E. Stevenson 


The Marathon Mystery 


With five scenes in color by ELior KEEN 
4th printing. $1.50 








This absorbing story of New York and Long Island to-day 
has been republished in England. Its conclusion is most 
astonishing. 





N.Y. Sun: ‘* Distinctly an interesting story—one of the sort that the 
reader will not lay down before he goes to bed,” 

N. ¥. Post: “ By comparison with the work of Anna Katharine 
Green .. . it is exceptionally clever . . . told interestingly and well.” 


N.Y. Tribune: ‘The Holladay Case was a tg story of crime 
and mystery. In The Marathon Mystery the author is in even firmer 
command of the trick. He is skillful in keeping his reader in suspense, 
and every element in it is cunningly adjusted to preserving the mystery 
inviolate until the end,” 

Boston Transcript: “The excellence of its style, Mr. Stevenson 
apparently knowing well the dramatic effect of fluency and brevity, and 
the rationality of avoiding false clues and attempts unduly to mystify his 
readers,”” 

Boston Herald: “‘ This is something more than an ordinary detective 
story. It thrills you and holds your attention to the end. But besides all 
this the characters are really well drawn and your interest in the plot is 
enhanced by interest in the people who play their parts therein,’’ 

Town and Country: ‘*The mystery defies solution until the end. 
The final catastrophe is worked out in a highly dramatic manner.” 


The Holladay Case 


With frontispiece by ELIoT KEEN 
7th printing. $1.25 











A tale of a modern mystery of New York and Etretat that 
has been republished in England and Germany. 





N.Y. Tribune: ‘* Professor Dicey recently said, ‘If you like a de- 
tective story take care you read a good detective story.’ This is a good 
detective story, and it is the better because the part of the hero is not 
filled by a member of the profession. .. . The reader will not want to 
put the book down until he has reached the last page. Most ingeniously 
constructed and well written into the bargain.” 








Henry Holt and Company 
Publishers New York 


TWO ROMANCES OF TRAVEL 





The Lightning Conductor 


The Strange Adventures of a Motor Car 


By C. N. and A. M. WILLIAMSON 
12mo. $1.50 





The love story of a beautiful American and a gallant 
Englishman, who stoops to conquer. Two almost. human 
automobiles, the one German, heavy and stubborn, and the 
other French, light and easy-going, play prominent parts. 
There is much humor. Picturesque scenes in Prover.ce, Spain 
and Italy pass before the reader’s eyes in rapid succession. 

Twenty printings of this novel have been called for. 





Nation; ‘‘Such delightful people, and such delightful scenes, .. . 
It should be a good, practical guide to those about to go over the same 
course, while its charming descriptions of travel afford an ample new fund 
of pleasure, tinged with envy here and there to the stay-at-homes,” 


NV. Y. Sun; ‘“‘ A pleasant and felicitous romance,” 
Springfield Republican: “* Wholly new and decidedly entertaining,” 
Chicago Post; ‘‘ Sprightly humor . . . the story moves,” 


The Pursuit of Phyllis 


By J. HARWOOD BACON 
With two illustrations by H. LATIMER BROWN 
t2mo. $1.25 














A humorous love story with scenes in England, France, 
China and Ceylon. 





Boston Transcript: “ A bright and entertaining story of up-to-date 
men and women,”’ 

N.Y. Tribune: “Very enjoyable... . Its charm consists in its 
naturalness and the sparkle of the dialogue and descriptions,” 

N.Y. Evening Post: “* The story is brisk, buoyant and entertaining.” 

Bookman: “Sparkling in fun, clean-cut and straightforward in style 
as the young hero himself.” 








Henry Holt and Company 


New York (1, ’05) Chicago 


2d printing of ‘‘ A novel in the better sense of a word much 
sinned against. . . . Itis decidedly a book worth while.”’ 





The Transgression of 
Andrew Vane 


By GUY WETMORE CARRYL 
I2mo. $1.50. 


Times’ SATURDAY REVIEW:—“ A strong and original story; . . . 
the descriptions of conditions in the American colony [in Paris] are 
convincingly clever. The story from the prologue—one of ex- 
ceptional promise in point of interest—to the climax .. . is full 
of action and dramatic surprise.” oe 


N. Y. TRIBUNE:—“ The surprising developments we must leave the 
reader to find out for himself, He will find it a pleasant task; .. . 
the surprise is not brought forward until precisely the right moment, 
and one is carried from the first chapter to the last with curiosity, 
and concern for the hero’s fate kept well alive.” 


N. Y. EVENING SUN:—* Everybody who likes clever fiction should 
read it.”’ 


LITERARY WORLD:—*“ The prologue is as skilful a handling of a 
repeilent theme as has ever been presented. The book is distinctly 
not one for the young person, but neither is it for the seeker after 
the risqué or the erotic. . . . Jn this novel are poured into a con- 
sistent and satisfying whole more of those vivid phases of Paris at 
which the author has shown himself a master hand.”’ 


CHICAGO EVENING PosT:—‘ The reader stops with regret in his 
mind that Guy Wetmore Carryl’s story-telling work is done.” 


CHICAGO TRIBUNE;—* A brilliant piece of work.” 


WASHINGTON STAR:—‘ A more engaging villain has seldom entered 
the pages of modern fiction; . . . sparkles with quotable epigrams.”’ 


BUFFALO EXxpRESS:—‘‘ The sort of a story which one is very apt to 
read with interest from beginning to end. And, moreover,... 
very bright and clever.”” 


NEw HAVEN JOURNAL:—*" By far the most ambitious work he 
undertook, and likewise the most brilliant.” 








Henry Holt and Company 


20 W. 23d St. (v1 *o4) NEW YORK 


§ 


oh 


st ry YY yi nin 
<s vAAS ila Bg 
‘ a 


Sag AR i ty! 
bie leek 

aaa pepe, 
pial 2s Ae: 
“y oie t « 


whi’ 
WW PA 
ie "y 
Ba A meat: 
<—— rue f 


oan 








Be 


Patan a 


re: 


ii 








RETURN TO the circulation desk of any 
University of California Library 


or to the 


NORTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
Bldg. 400, Richmond Field Station 

University of California 

Richmond, CA 94804-4698 










ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS 


e 2-month loans may be renewed by calling 
(510) 642-6753 


e 1-year loans may be recharged by bringing 
books to NRLF 


e Renewals and recharges may be mac’ 
4 days prior to due date 


DUE AS aa \ 








fis “tnd dm § 


U. C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES 





~ 


cos49ee115 


; soe aay 
V¥541004 
483 


D 34+ 
ray AN 


THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 


teary 


Mi 
7 
iy 


; Se, 
ean 


Vath hss} 
note 
in »! Sie 


Rete 

Haat ts 
Sy 

ef 


i 
AACR} ij 
Hal Grary veka 
At tie i} 





